4||iiii 


ma 

S 

^E 

9AHVHei 

K«r.»- 

jj;^*^-X              ^    f-n 

L^ 

'  (i  ^ — i 

BHII^H 

^4^^^ 

i-'^  ^ 

^(ZM    "^ 

4fsLj^  *^,»¥^: 


i^ 


^ 


LIFE   AND   LETTERS 


OF 


HOEACE   BTJSHNELL 


NEW    YORK 

HARPER    &    BROTHERS,    PUBLISHERS 

FRANKLIN      SQUARE 
1880 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1880,  by 

Mary    Bushxell    Cheney, 

In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


T2.60 


"  There  are  some  of  all  ages — a  lioly  few — icliose  lives  have  leen  preserved 
to  us  in,  writing  and  tradition^  and  who  thus  live  among  tis  still  as  hioion 
causes,  who  are  not  silent^  ichose  names  and  worTcs  and  Christian  characters 
are  even  freshened  and  made  more  vigorous  ty  the  lapse  of  time.  God  has 
saved  these  elect  men  to  us  hj  means  of  icritten  language,  that  we  may 
ever  have  them  with  us,  and  looTc  to  them  as  our  lights  of  love  and  truth. 
They  icere  God's  experimenters,  I  may  say,  in  all  their  strtiggles  and  trials 
and  worl's,  and  so  God's  icitnesses ;  and  therefore  it  is  exj^ected  that  tec 
shall  go  naturally  to  them  for  help  and  life -direction,  as  one  tcho  icould 
open  a  mine  icill  seize  upon  tlie  instructive  suggestions  of  an  experienced 
miner.  They  were  the  true  miners  of  faith,  and  ice  may  go  to  them  to 
he  told  where  the  treasures  of  faith  do  lie,  and  how  they  may  he  opened.'''' 

HORACE   BUSHNELL. 


C  >  r^  /T^  d  <k  'Jf^l  y-% 


PREFACE. 


This  book  will  be  fonncl  to  be  a  more  composite  work 
than  is  commonly  the  case  with  a  biography.  As  there  were 
many  aspects  of  the  life  and  character  of  Dr.  Bushnell  to  be 
considered  and  interpreted,  it  has  naturally  been  the  work 
of  many  hands  to  paint  his  picture ;  and  it  has  been  a  j)art 
of  the  great  pleasure  of  preparing  the  material  that  so  many 
kind  friends  have  generously  responded  to  our  calls  for  help. 

In  preparing  the  first  portion  of  the  history,  covering  a 
period  of  about  sixty  years,  and  closing  with  the  chapter  of 
family  reminiscences,  I  have  liad  the  great  advantage  of  rich 
contributions,  such  as  those  of  the  Rev.  Dr.  C.  A.  Bartol,  and 
of  the  Right  Rev.  Bishop  Clark,  and  that  by  the  Rev.  Dr. 
Leonard  Bacon,  originally  prepared  for  this  volume,  but  after- 
wards published  in  the  New  Englander,  from  which  several 
full  quotations  have  been  made.  In  addition  to  these,  we 
have  the  invaluable  recollections  of  Dr.  Bushnell's  early 
friends,  and  some  autobiographical  fragments  left  by  himself. 
As  critics,  revisers,  and  helpers,  there  have  come  to  my  aid 
several  friends  whose  advice  has  been  of  inestimable  value. 
I  may  name  the  Rev.  Drs.  Burton,  Parker,  and  Twichell,  all 
of  Hartford  ;  the  Rev.  A.  S.  Chesebrough,  of  Durham,  Conn. ; 
and  the  Rev.  Dr.  John  II.  Morison,  of  Milton,  Mass.  I  have 
also  quoted  freely  from  interesting  published  articles,  the 
authorship  of  which  is  acknowledged  in  their  place. 


Vi  PREFACE. 

Compelled  by  the  chronological  order  to  name  first  the 
portion  which  I  should  have  been  glad  to  put  last,  I  may  now 
go  on  to  speak  with  more  satisfaction  of  that  next  in  order, 
written  by  tl>c  Rev.  Dr.  E.  P.  Parker,  of  Hartford. 

This  period  was  one  of  great  mental  activity  with  Dr. 
Bushnell,  and  of  influence  extended  in  various  ways, — patri- 
otically for  our  country  during  the  eventful  days  of  the  war, 
and  personally  and  socially  among  many  men  of  many  minds 
— in  the  truest  sense,  therefore,  a  "  ministry  at  large."  It  is 
for  this  reason  a  subject  for  gratitude  with  us  that,  without 
the  aid  of  much  correspondence  and  with  little  of  outward 
incident,  the  deep  significance  and  interest  of  this  important 
time  has  been  made  to  appear.  Dr.  Parker's  narrative  closes 
with  the  account  of  a  farewell  scene  in  a  ministerial  meeting, 
and  brings  the  history  down  to  about  1S71. 

The  remaining  years  of  decline,  when  Dr.  Bushnell's  life 
was  more  and  more  circumscribed  as  regards  the  outside 
world,  and  when  he  was  seen  and  watched  by  those  of  his 
own  household  more  than  by  any  other  friends,  are  portrayed 
by  his  daughter.  Miss  F.  L.  Bushnell,  who  has  also  assisted 
rae  in  the  preparation  of  material  and  in  many  other  ways. 
Her  narration  closes  the  story. 

Maey  Bushnell  Chen^et. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

A   Fragment    of    Autobiography    found    Dimly    Pencilled    on    a 
Stray  Sheet  of  Paper 1 

CHAPTER  I. 

1S02-1S23. 
Early  Life  at  Home 3 


CHAPTER  11. 

Sketches  of  his  Grandmother  and  Mother  (Written  by  Dr.  Bush- 

NELL    IN    ISli   AT    HIE    REQUEST    OF    FrIENDS) 24 


CHAPTER  HI. 

1S23-1S27. 
At  Yale  College 35 


CHAPTER  IV. 

1S27-1S32. 

School -TEACHING. — Editorship. — Study  of  Laav. — Tutorship. — Law 
Studies  again.  —  Renewal  of  Religious  Life.  —  Theological 
School 47 

CHAPTER  V. 

1S33-1S3T. 

Settlement  in  Hartford. — Marriage.— Duties  and  Difficulties. — 
Preaching. — The  Subject  of  Slavery. — The  Subject  of  Re- 
vivals   67 

CHAPTER  YI. 

1S3T-1S40. 

Loss  of  his  Baby  Lily. — Summer  Vacation  at  Long  Island. — Loss 
OF  HIS  Mother. — Birth  of  his  Son. — Address  at  Andover  and 
First  Heresy. — Deacon  Seth  Terry. — American  Politics. — Call 
to  the  Presidency  of  Middleburt  College 85 


viii  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  VII. 

lS41-lSi5.  PAGE 

Degree  of  D.D.— Second  Coming.— Lectdre  at  Hudson.— Death  of 
HIS  Son.— Protestant  League.— CATHOLicus.—roBLiSHED  Articles 
AND  Addresses. — Letters. — Ill-health 98 

CIIx\PTER  VIII. 
Journey  in  Europe H-^ 

CHAPTEPt  IX. 

1846-184S. 
Coming  Home.— Letter  to  the  Pope.— Christian  Alliance.— Cor- 
respondence.— Christian  Nurture,  and  Argument  for  the  Sa3ie. 
— Dr.  Bacon's  Criticism. — Hartford  Water -works. — Barbarism 
the  First  Danger. — Sketch  of  Dr.  Bushnell,  by  Dr.  Bartol. — 
Letter  to  a  Child 1"! 

CHAPTER  X. 

184S-1S49. 
Religious  Experience. — Address  at  Cambridge  Divinity  School. — 
Address  at  Harvard. — Address  at  Yale. — Address  at  Andover. 
— The  Book,  "God  in  Christ." — Dissertation  on  Language. — Ef- 
fects of  his  Views  of  Language  upon  his  Written  Style '191 

CHAPTER  XL 

'1S48-1850. 

Letters  to  Dr.  Bartol. — Publication  of  "God  in  Christ." — Re- 
views.— Letters. — C.  C,  or  Criticus  Criticorum. — Defence  be- 
fore the  Hartford  Central  Association. — Letters  again 211 

CHAPTER  XII. 

1850-1851. 

"Fairfield  West." — Meeting  of  the  General  Association  at  Litch- 
field.— Reminiscences  of  Dr.  Busiinell's  Bearing  there. — Fish- 
ing Excursions. — Interview  with  an  Opponent. — Letter  from  Dr. 
Porter. — Fairfield  West  again. — "Christ  in  Theology." — Dr. 
Bacon  Quoted. — Letters. — Litchfield  Address  and  Speech  for 
Connecticut.  —  A  Journey. — Letters. — Exclusion  from  Inter- 
course WITH  Brother  Ministers. — Dr.  Haaves. — Dr.  Bushnell's 
Manners  in  Controversy 234 

CHAPTER   XIII. 

1S52. 
Lectures  on  the  Supernatural. — Meeting  of  General  Association 
at  Danbury. — North   Church  withdraws    from   Consociation. — 
Address  on  Religious  Music. — Ill-health. — Western  Journey...  257 


CONTKNTS.  .  ix 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

1S53.  PAGE 

Review  of  Dk.  Bushnell's  Pastorate 279 

CHAPTER  XV. 

1S53. 

Letters  of  Eeminiscences  by  Bishop  Clark. — Address  for  Com- 
mon Schools. — Letters. — Controversy. — Letters.  —  The  Hart- 
ford Park. — Other  Public  Matters. — Estisiate  of  Dr.  Bcshnell 
AS  a  Citizen 291 

■      CHAPTER  XVI. 

1S54. 

Private  Letters. — Correspondence  with  Dr.  Hawes. — Public  Basis 
OF  Agreement. — Dr.  Bushnell's  Position  Questioned. — Interpre- 
tation BY  Dr.  Phelps. — Last  Gun  of  the  Controversy 322 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

1S55. 

Letters  from  New  York,  Cuba,  Savannah,  Charleston,  and  Hart- 
ford   347 

CHAPTER   XVIII. 

1856. 
California 3G5 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

1S57-185S. 

Return  from  California. — Sermon  of  Reunion. — Week-day'  Sermon 
TO  Business  Men. — Thanksgiving. — Revival  of  1857,  '8. — Over- 
work.— Letter  from  the  North  Church  and  Reply. — Choice  of 
a  Colleague. — Publication  of  "Sermons  for  the  New  Life." — 
Publication  of  "Nature  and  the  Supernatural." — Exhaustion..  40G 

CHAPTER  XX. 

1S59-1S60. 

Leaving  Hartford. — Minnesota „ 423 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

ISCO-lSGl. 

Clifton  Springs 439 

CHAPTER  XXII. 
Household  Recollections 452 


CONTENTS. 
CHAPTER  XXIIL 

MINISTRY  AT  LARGE. 


Dr.  Bcshxell's  Patriotism  and  Hopefulness  during  the  War. — 
His  Account  of  its  Causes,  and  Interest  in  its  Details. — Trib- 
ute TO  Major  Camp. — Vacations  at  New  Preston. — Writing  "The 
Vicarious  Sacrifice." — Publication  of  Two  Volumes. — Article 
on  "Loyalty." — Letter  of  Consolation. — Escape  from  a  Fatal 
Accident. — "Our  Obligations  to  the  Dead." — Visit  to  the  Bat- 
tle-fields.—  Publication  of  "Vicarious  Sacrifice." — Address 
on  "Pulpit  Talent." — Worship  and  the  Diaconate. — Letter  to 
A  Metaphysician. — Published  Articles,  especially'  "Building 
Eras." — The  Adirondacks. — Reminiscences  by  the  Rev.  Joseph  H. 
Twichell. — "Our  Gospel  a  Gift  to  the  Imagination." — "Wom-I| 
AN  Suffrage." — "God's  Thoughts  fit  Bread  for  Children," — 
Preaching. — Work  to  obtain  a  Site  for  the  State  Capitol. — 
His  Studies  of  the  Outside  World. — His  Conversation  at  Meet- 
ings or  Ministers. — The  Monday-  Evening  Club. —Flashes  of 
Wit. — His  Farewell  to  the  Brethren  of  the  Association 470 

CHAPTER   XXIV. 

BY    F.    X..    B. 

CLOSING   TEARS. 

1S70-1ST6. 

Last  Visit  to  New  Preston. — A  Deep  Experience. — Revisions. — 
Extracts  from  a  Correspondence. — First  Summer  in  Ripton,  with 
Letters. — Notes  on  Prayer. — Work  under  Limitations. — Second 
and  Third  Summers  in  Ripton,  with  Letters. — "A  Vacation  with 
Dr.  Bushnell,"by  Professor  Austin  Phelps. — His  Manifold  In- 
terests.— Vitality  of  his  Humor. — Publication  of  "  Forgiveness 
and  Laav." — Letters  concerning  it. — Days  of  Peace. — A  Neav 
Work  begun. — A  Severe  Illness. — Partial  Recovery. — Last  Let- 
ters.— Gradual  Decline. — Naming  of  the  Park. — Death. — Ex- 
tracts FROM  THE  Funeral  Sermon  by  the  Rev.  Dr.  Burton 515 


A  FRAGMENT  OF  AUTOBIOGRAPHY, 

BY  HORACE   BUSHNELL, 
FOUND  DIMLY  PENCILLED  ON  A  STRAY  SHEET  OF  PAPER. 


"GOD'S  WAY  WITH  A  SOUL. 

"  I  HAVE  been  told  that  my  arrival  or  advent  in  tliis  earthly 
sphere  was  on  the  14th  of  April,  1802.  I  have  no  recollec- 
tion of  any  other  state  from  which  I  came,  and  have  had  no 
reason  to  judge  that  I  came  from  any  other  state  at  all.  I  sup- 
pose that  I  was  not  made,  but  generated,  being  the  son  of  one 
soul  which  was  the  son  of  another,  which  was  the  son  of  God. 
But  these  parent  souls  out  of  which  I  came  I  do  not  remem- 
ber as  having  been  conversant  with  their  substance.  I  have 
only  heard  of  some  of  them  by  report.  Indeed,  I  came,  as  I 
suppose,  scarcely  knoMung  myself,  and  having  it  for  a  great 
part  of  my  errand  here  to  find,  get  a  knowledge  of,  and  so 
get  iull  possession  of,  myself.  For  I  was  only  a  tender,  rubi- 
cund mollusk  of  a  creature  at  the  time  when  I  came  out  in 
this  rough  battle  with  winds,  winters,  and  w^ickedness ;  and, 
so  far  from  being  able  to  take  care  of  myself,  I  was  only  a 
little  and  confusedly  conscious  of  ra3'self,  or  that  I  was  any- 
body ;  and  when  I  broke  into  this  little,  confused  conscious- 
ness, it  was  with  a  cry — such  a  dismal  figure  did  I  make  to 
myself;  or  perchance  it  was  something  prophetic,  without 
inspiration,  a  foreshadow,  dim  and  terrible,  of  the  great  battle 
of  w^oe  and  sin  I  w^as  sent  hither  to  fight.  But  my  God  and 
my  good  mother  both  heard  the  cry  and  went  to  the  task  of 
strengthening  and  comforting  me  together,  and  w^ere  able  ere 
long  to  get  a  smile  upon  my  face.     My  mother's  loving  in- 


2  A  FKAGMENT  OF  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

stiuct  was  from  God,  and  God  was  in  love  to  me  first  there- 
fore ;  which  love  was  deeper  than  hers,  and  more  protracted. 
Long  years  ago  she  vanished,  but  God  stays  by  me  still, 
embracing  me,  in  my  gray  hairs,  as  tenderly  and  carefully  as 
she  did  in  my  infancy,  and  giving  to  me  as  my  joy  and  the 
principal  glory  of  my  life  that  he  lets  me  know  him,  and  helps 
me,  with  real  confidence,  to  call  him  my  Father,  Would 
that  I  could  simply  tell  his  method  with'  me  and  show  its 
significance. 

"  My  figure  in  this  world  has  not  been  great,  but  I  have  had 
a  great  experience.  I  have  never  been  a  great  agitator,  never 
pulled  a  wire  to  get  the  will  of  men,  never  did  a  politic  thing. 
It  was  not  for  this  reason,  but  because  I  was  looked  upon  as 
a  singularity — not  exactly  sane,  perhaps,  in  many  things — that 
I  was  almost  never  a  president  or  vice-president  of  any  soci- 
ety, and  almost  never  on  a  committee.  Take  the  report  of 
my  doings  on  the  platform  of  the  world's  business,  and  it  is 
naught.  I  have  filled  no  place  at  all.  But  still  it  has  been  a 
great  thing  even  for  me  to  live.  In  my  separate  and  merely 
personal  kind  of  life,  I  have  had  a  greater  epic  transacted  than 
was  ever  Avritten,  or  could  be.  The  little  turns  of  my  way 
have  turned  great  changes, — what  I  am  now  as  distinguislied 
from  the  merely  molhisk  and  pulpy  state  of  infancy ;  the 
drawing-out  of  my  powei's,  the  correcting  of  my  errors,  the 
winnowing  of  my  faults,  the  washing  of  my  sins ;  that  which 
has  given  me  principles,  opinions,  and,  more  than  all,  a  faith, 
and,  as  the  fruit  of  this,  an  abiding  in  the  sense  and  free  par- 
taking of  tlie  life  of  God.  Oh  that  I  could  trace  the  subtle 
art  of  my  Teacher  and  show  the  shifting  scenes  of  the  drama 
which  he  has  kept  me  acting !  "What  a  history — of  redemp- 
tion and  more !  I  will  try,  as  I  best  can,  to  show  it.  Help 
me,  O  my  God !  Refresh  my  memoiy.  Quicken  my  insight. 
Exalt  my  conceptions  of  thy  meanings,  and  give  me  to  see 
just  how  thou  hast  led  me,  that  I  may  quicken  others  to  look 
for  thy  mercy,  and  see  that  thou  hast  also  as  great,  and  great- 
er, things  to  do  for  them," 


LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 


CHAPTER  I. 

1802-1823. 
EARLY   LIFE   AT   HOME. 

Horace  Bushnell  was  born  on  the  l-ttli  of  April.  1802, 
in  the  town  of  Litchfield,  Connecticut.  To  have  been  born 
then  and  there  was  the  best  of  omens.  At  the  beginning 
of  this  century  the  national  struggle  for  life  was  over,  and 
even  the  exhaustion  and  impoverishment  which  war  had  left 
behind  were  disappearing.  It  was  a  time  of  unbounded  hope, 
and  of  immense,  though  vaguely  realized,  possibilities.  Litch- 
field County,  like  the  rest  of  our  little  state,  had  done  good, 
and  even  brilliant,  service  in  the  war ;  and  now,  emerging  from 
its  depression,  was  beginning  to  take  courage  and  plan  wisely 
for  her  future.  The  people  were  enterprising.  They  built 
good  turnpike  roads;  opened  schools  and  academies;  started 
manufactures  ;  and  made  their  law-school,  founded  some  years 
earlier,  a  prominent  seat  of  constitutional  training  whence 
came  some  of  the  best  lawyers  of  the  country.  They  also 
joined  in  the  movements  for  missionary  work  and  temjDer- 
ance  reform ;  which  reform,  if  we  may  recall  some  of  the 
stories  of  our  grandmothers,  was  much  needed  in  the  days 
of  our  great -grandsires.  Nature  had  given  them  a  goodl}'- 
heritage,  both  in  their  own  sturd}^  bone  and  muscle  and  in 
the  lovely  but  rugged  country  of  their  possession.  Here, 
also,  bone  and  muscle  are  prominent.  But  this  portion  of 
vertebrate  ISTew  England  is  so  roundly  covered  with  a  strong 
soil,  so  veined  with  well-fed  water-courses,  and  clothed  upon 


4  LIFE  OF   IIOKACE   BUSHNELL. 

■with  rich  verdure,  that  its  wild  beauty  is  redeemed  from  all 
harshness.  The  very  air  breathes  vigor  and  purity.  There 
could  be  no  fresher,  wholesomer,  more  vigorous  atmosphere, 
moral  and  physical,  to  be  drawn  in  with  the  first  breath  of 
life  than  that  of  Litchfield  at  the  date  of  Horace  Bushnell's 
birth. 

The  birthplace  was  an  old  house,  now  gone,  at  the  fork  of 
the  roads  and  opposite  the  Episcopal  church,  in  the  little  vil- 
lage of  Bantam,  two  miles  west  of  Litchfield  Hill.  The  name 
of  this  hamlet,  derived  from  the  peaceful  tribe  of  Bantam 
Indians  who  were  the  original  owners  of  the  soil,  had  once 
been  the  title  of  the  whole  township,  but  now  was  limited  to 
this  small  portion  of  it.  The  parents.  Ensign  Bushnell  and 
Dotha,  his  wife  (whose  maiden  name  was  Bishop),  were  but 
lately  married — this  their  first  home,  Horace  their  first  child. 
They  were  plain  farming  people,  known  to  their  neighbors  as 
well  for  their  excellent  abilities  as  for  their  uprightness,  in- 
dustry, and  kindliness.  They  were  both  religious,  but  be- 
longed to  different  communions,  he  to  the  Methodist,  she  to 
the  Episcopal  Church. 

If  we  trace  back  the  family  lineage,  we  find  the  Bushnells 
among  the  first  settlers  of  Saybrook  and  Guilford.  In  Eng- 
land the  family  had  been,  it  is  thought  probable,  French  Hu- 
guenot refugees,  as  the  name,  diiferently  spelled,  is  still  found 
in  France,  and  some  of  the  emigrants  to  this  country  bore 
French  Christian -names.  Other  indications  point  to  the 
same  theory,  "We  learn  of  no  titled  or  distinguished  person- 
ages among  them.  Their  only  patent  of  nobility  they  car- 
ried in  their  capable  hands  and  heads.  Francis  Bushnell,  "ye 
elder,"  is  recorded  as  the  third  signer  of  the  covenant  for  the 
settlement  of  Guilford,  in  June,  1639.  Sixth  in  the  line  of 
descent  from  Francis  is  Abraham  Bushnell,  who  settled  at 
Canaan  Falls,  and  there  married  Miss  Molly  Ensign.  They 
had  twelve  children,  the  second  of  whom  bore  his  mother's 
maiden  name,  and  was  the  father  of  Horace  Bushnell. 

The  little  family  of  Ensign  Bushnell  removed  from  their 
home  in  Litchfield,  in  the  year  1805,  to  N'ew  Preston,  a  village 
about  fourteen  miles  from  Litchfield,  and  in  the  most  pictu- 


EARLY  LIFE  AT  HOME.  5 

resque  part  of  the  same  county.  There  is  reason  to  think  tliat 
the  inducement  to  this  removal  lay  in  the  superior  water- 
power  of  New  Preston,  and  that  an  interest  in  carding  wool 
and  dressing  cloth  by  machinery  had  come  to  Ensign  Bush- 
nell  from  his  father  at  Canaan  Falls,  where  was  erected,  in 
1802,  the  first  carding-machine  ever  built  in  the  state.  At  all 
events,  this,  in  addition  to  farming,  soon  became  his  business. 
The  scenery  of  I^ew  Preston  abounds  in  lovely  pictures,  of 
which  Lake  Waramaug  is  the  centre.  This  sheet  of  crystal- 
line water  winds  like  a  river  among  its  hilly  shores,  which,  at 
the  southern  end,  rise  and  peer  at  their  own  woody  shadows 
in  its  still  mirror.  On  the  east  the  Pinnacle  rises  from 
the  water,  its  erect  figure  clothed  half-way  up  with  forest, 
its  rocky  outline,  as  seen  from  the  lake,  projected  against  the 
sky.  From  its  base  the  lake  turns  away  westward  with  a 
wider  sweep,  the  shores  gracefully  indented  with  little  coves 
and  crowned  with  green  farms.  Polling  hills,  Sugar-loaf  and 
others,  fill  the  western  distance,  and  tlirough  their  misty  val- 
leys and  across  the  w^ater  the  setting  sun  sends  the  glory  of 
his  level  beams.  The  outlet  of  the  lake  is  from  the  southern 
end,  and  pours  its  foaming  stream  through  a  narrow  valley, 
from  which  the  hills  on  either  side  rise  steeply.  The  little 
mills  and  shops  which  line  this  stream  and  use  its  water-power, 
and  the  rugged  farms  that  climb  these  hill -sides,  compose 
the  village  of  ISTew  Preston,  which  still,  nestled  in  the  safe 
seclusion  of  woods  and  mountains,  keeps  much  of  its  old 
character  of  remoteness  from  the  world. 

The  Bushnells  chose  their  farm  and  fixed  their  home  upon 
the  southeastern  slope  of  "  a  broad-backed  hill,  which  stretches 
a  mile  upward  and  westward  to  a  rounded  summit,  w'here 
stands  the  church."  As  this  hill  turns  its  back  upon  the  lake, 
the  view  does  not  include  the  water,  but  is  a"  wide  outlook 
down  the  winding  valley  and  across  the  rolling  summits  of 
the  hills  which,  for  ten  miles,  part  it  from  that  of  the  IIou- 
satonic.  The  farm  lying  on  this  sunny  slope  is  a  rough 
and  rocky  one  —  one  to  tax  the  strength  and  patient  skill 
of  him  who  tilled  it.  "  No  ornamental  rock-work  is  needed 
to  set  off  the  landscape.     Nature's  rock-work  will  stand,  and 


6  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

the  toil  that  is  necessary  to  clear  the  soil  is  just  what  is  requi- 
site to  sharpen  the  vigor  of  our  people.  The  necessities  of  a 
rough  country  and  an  intractable  soil  are  good  necessities." 
This  was  the  lesson  of  early  experience  as  recalled  by  Horace 
Bushnell  in  manhood. 

The  home  was  a  roomy  and  cheerful  farm-house  which,  fac- 
ing south,  stands  back  a  little  from  the  road  behind  its  row 
of  shady  maples,  with  that  expression  of  reserve  and  comfort- 
able independence  so  familiar  in  New  England.  But  in  those 
days  no  such  green  shadow  fell  at  noonday  to  curtain  the 
house  from  the  dust  and  travel  of  the  road  ;  for  it  was  Horace 
Bushnell,  then  but  a  stripling,  who  brought  the  young  trees 
upon  his  back  from  the  mountain  and  planted  them  there. 
Just  below  the  house  the  hill  pitches  down  into  the  hollow 
where  the  stream  I'ushes  and  the  mill  hummed  in  old  days. 
The  home,  the  early  surroundings,  introduce  us  to  the  man, 
and  upon  this  natural  background  we  can  see  him  best.  I^ay, 
the  very  soil  is  allied  to  him,  and  the  air  is  a  subtile  sugges- 
tion of  his  spirit.  So  said  lately  his  dear  friend.  Dr.  Burton, 
when  speaking  to  those  friends  who  had  known  him  best : — 

"  Not  long  after  Dr.  Bushnell  died,  I  had  occasion,  for  the 
first  time  in  my  life,  to  go  into  the  town  where  he  grew  to 
manhood.  And,  as  I  looked  out  on  the  fields  and  the  woods, 
and  the  hills  and  the  waters  that  had  been  so  familiar  to  his 
eyes  and  had  become  so  associated  with  his  name,  he  came 
back  to  me  and  filled  me  wnth  his  presence  in  a  manner  I  do 
not  dare  try  much  to  describe.  In  all  my  many  meetings  with 
him  while  he  was  alive,  in  all  my  most  interested  readings 
of  his  books,  in  all  my  absorbed  listenings  to  his  public  dis- 
courses, I  never  took  such  a  full-toned  and  melting  sense  of 
his  personality  and  of  him  with  me,  as  I  did  while  standing 
in  those  scenes  and  saying  to  myself, '  Here  roamed  that  child 
who  was  finally  to  be  one  of  the  great  quickening  thinkers 
of  the  world.  In  this  lake  he  fished  ;  on  these  strong  heights 
he  stood  in  the  presence  and  inspiration  of  great  Nature, 
whose  most  secret  meanings  he  eventually  interpreted  in  a  dic- 
tion all  alive  and  radiant  with  natural  images ;  up  yonder  long 
hill  to  the  church  on  the  top  he  trudged  on  Sundays,  a  little 


EARLY   LIFE   AT   HOME.  7 

boy  with  his  great  round  head  and  his  bare  feet ;  in  that  house 
which  I  just  see  in  the  distance  he  spent  the  days  of  his  youtli, 
with  father,  mother,  and  the  rest,  in  that  dear  and  homely 
home-hfe  which  fed  his  heart  and  toned  his  mind  for  the  ro- 
bust and  magnetic  work  lie  was  to  do  in  after-times.  Yes, 
here  in  these  simple  surroundings  and  nourished  by  this  char- 
acteristic New  England  scenery,  unknown  to  himself  and  un- 
known to  his  friends,  no  one  then  suspecting  what  a  future 
of  power  was  before  him,  he  passed  his  days ;  and  from  here 
he  passed  out  into  college  and  into  the  broad  world ;  and  to 
these  places  of  his  youth,  as  long  as  he  lived,  it  was  his  un- 
dying pleasure  to  return,  and  here,  during  the  years  wherein 
the  shadow  of  death  was  upon  him  and  he  was  visibly  fading 
away,  he  was  continually  coming  back  as  on  a  sacred  pilgrim- 
age, and  replenishing  his  failing  fund  of  life.'  " 

In  this  home  grew  up  a  lively  family  of  boys  and  girls — 
four  of  the  former,  two  of  the  latter.  Eeared  in  the  simplest 
habits ;  taught  from  childhood  to  work  and  contribute,  each 
his  share,  to  the  plain  family  living ;  ignorant  of  the  world, 
but  not  of  God,  they  grew  undisturbed  as  flowers  do  in  the 
wild  recesses  of  a  mountain,  straight  up,  and  keeping  each  an 
aroma  all  its  own.  The  father  of  the  household  was  a  sturdy 
and  spirited  man,  pleasant  in  his  ways  to  child  or  neighbor, 
full  of  New  England  grit,  resolute  in  work,  and  of  a  steady 
cheerfulness  in  all  the  ups  and  downs  of  life.  He  did  not  by 
constant  chiding  worry  his  children  ;  but  if  he  punished,  it  was 
thoroughly  done.  His  eldest  son  once  told  one  of  his  own 
children  that  his  father  "never  whipped  him  but  once,  and 
then  he  flogged  him;"  and  also  said  to  a  friend  that  he  re- 
membered this  tremendous  discipline  as  one  of  the  best  things 
that  ever  hjippened  to  him.  In  one  of  his  books,  doubtless 
with  the  same  event  in  mind,  he  wrote,  "  There  is  many  a 
grown-up  man  who  will  remember  such  an  hour  of  discipline 
as  the  time  when  the  ploughshare  of  God's  truth  went  into 
his  soul  like  redemption  itself.  That  was  the  shock  that  woke 
him  up  to  the  stanch  realities  of  principle ;  and  he  will  recol- 
lect that  father  as  God's  minister  typified  to  all  dearest,  holi- 
est reverence  by  the  pungent  indignations  of  that  time."     Of 

2 


8  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

the  mother's  high  Christian  patience,  steadfastness,  and  wis- 
dom it  was  her  son's  loving  pleasure  to  write,  towards  the 
close  of  his  own  life,  a  comj^lete  and  graphic  storj,  which,  in 
connection  with  a  sketch  of  his  grandmother,  will  be  found 
in  the  following  chapter.  It  is  enough  to  say  of  her  here 
that  her  motherly  wisdom  was  equalled  by  her  practical  effi- 
ciency, and  that  she  managed  her  great  household  with  such 
rare  tact  and  skill  as  to  blend  with  its  neatness  and  comfort 
a  simple  but  home-like  charm.  The  youngest  of  the  family, 
born  at  a  time  when  her  labors  and  anxieties  were  the  heavi- 
est, has  the  same  delightful  memories  of  her.  "Writing  of  his 
elder  brother  lately,  he  said,  "  He  was  born  in  a  household 
where  religion  was  no  occasional  and  nominal  thing,  no  irk- 
some restraint  nor  unwelcome  visitor,  but  a  constant  atmos- 
phere, a  commanding  but  genial  presence.  In  our  father  it 
was  characterized  by  eminent  evenness,  fairness,  and  conscien- 
tiousness ;  in  our  mother  it  was  felt  as  an  intense  life  of  love, 
utterly  unselfish  and  untiring  in  its  devotion,  yet  thoughtful, 
sagacious,  and  wise,  always  stimulating  and  ennobling,  and  in 
special  crises  leaping  out  in  tender  and  almost  awful  fire.  If 
ever  there  was  a  child  of  Christian  nurture,  he  was  one ;  nurt- 
ured, I  will  not  say,  in  the  formulas  of  theology  as  sternly  as 
some  ;  for  though  he  had  to  learn  the  Westminster  Catechism, 
its  formulas  were  not  held  as  of  equal  or  superior  authority 
to  that  of  the  Scriptures ;  not  nurtured  in  what  might  be 
called  the  emotional  elements  of  religion  as  fervently  as  some, 
but  nurtured  in  the  facts  and  principles  of  the  Christian  faith 
in  their  bearing  upon  the  life  and  character;  and  if  ever  a 
man  was  true  to  the  fundamental  principles  and  the  customs 
which  i^revailed  in  his  early  home,  even  to  his  latest  years, 
he  was."* 

It  was  not  strange  that  such  a  mother  should  have  special 
pleasure  in  such  a  son,  w^atching  and  recognizing  his  unfold- 
ing genius  with  a  mother's  quick  insight.  She  had,  besides, 
secret  hopes,  nourished  silently  in  her  own  heart  for  years, 
and  reaching  back  even  to  the  time  before  his  birth,  when  she 

*  Rev.  George  Bushuell,  iu  the  Advance. 


EARLY   LIFE   AT  HOME.  9 

had,  in  the  enthusiasm  of  that  new  experience,  made  an  of- 
fering of  her  unborn  to  God,  dedicating  him  forever  to  his 
service  and  ministry.  From  this  hidden  purpose  she  never 
swerved,  and  when  he  went  into  the  study  of  law,  after  leaving 
college,  she  said, "  If  he  is  not  a  minister,  I  shall  not  know  what 
to  think  of  it."  In  childhood  he  was  her  constant  companion. 
He  followed,  her  in  her  domestic  occupations,  and  saw  and 
shared,  as  a  child  might,  her  patient  toil  for  children  and 
home.  His  sunny  and  affectionate  temper  helped  to  lighten 
her  burdens ;  and  w^hen  he  was  a  man,  no  longer  at  her  side, 
her  simple  testimony  was  that  "  he  had  always  been  a  good 
son  to  her."  Intimacy  and  companionship  with  this  good 
mother  was  his  education,  interweaving  its  influences  watli  the 
very  fibres  of  his  being,  and  preparing  him  by  its  inspirations 
for  the  work  before  him.  There  were  one  or  two  incidents 
of  his  childhood  which  she  used  to  recall.  One  was  that 
wdien  a  toddler  of  three  or  four  years  he  ran  before  her  one 
day  over  a  low  foot-bridge  across  the  stream,  and,  in  his  un- 
steady childish  liaste,  fell  off  into  the  water.  She  caught  him 
by  his  hair  as  he  rose,  and  saved  him.  The  current  was 
swift  and  deep,  and  it  must  have  required  quickness  and  pres- 
ence of  mind  to  do  it.  Another  rather  significant  little  story 
is  that,  before  he  could  talk  plainly,  it  was  a  favorite  amuse- 
ment with  him  to  imitate  the  process  of  dyeing,  by  dipping 
bits  of  white  rag  into  clear  water,  and  then,  hanging  them 
up  in  the  sunlight,  to  stand  off  and  admire  the  imaginary 
beauty  of  their  colors.  An  ingenious  imagination  and  a  love 
of  color,  qualities  both  conspicuous  in  his  maturity,  are  fore- 
shadowed here. 

The  teaching  of  home  was  early  supplemented  by  that  of 
the  district  school ;  for  he  was  not  more  than  five  years  old 
wdien  he  came  under  the  care  of  that  beloved  teacher,  Perry 
Averill,  of  whom  he  said  years  afterwards,  "  My  enthusiasm, 
my  delight,  in  my  teacher  I  do  not  forget,  and  never  lost  the 
benefit  of."  As  the  instructions  of  this  master  lasted  but  a 
year,  this  enthusiasm  of  a  child  of  five  years,  graduating  into 
the  life-long  gratitude  of  the  man,  was  the  more  remarkable. 
Questioned,  when  a  gray-haired  man,  by  a  ISTew  Preston  friend, 


10  LIFE   OF  HOKACE  BUSHNELL. 

as  to  the  time  when  lie  first  became  conscious  of  his  own  pow- 
ers, his  reply  was,  "  In  a  little  old  school-house  that  stood  in 
your  pasture-lot,  when  I  was  sitting  on  a  slab  with  legs  in  it  so 
long  that  my  feet  did  not  touch  the  floor,  then  I  first  got  the 
idea  that  I  was  a  power."  His  own  picture  of  that  school,  of 
the  church,  and  of  the  hardy  home-training  is  taken  from  his 
address  entitled  "  The  Age  of  Homespun,"  which  was  deliv- 
ered at  the  Litchfield  Centennial  Celebration  in  1851,  and  fol- 
lows here : — 

"  But  the  scliools — we  must  not  pass  by  these,  if  we  are  to  form  a 
truthful  and  sufficient  picture  of  the  liomespun  days.  The  schoolmaster 
did  not  exactly  go  round  the  district  to  fit  out  the  children's  minds  with 
learning,  as  the  shoemaker  often  did  to  fit  their  feet  with  shoes,  or  the 
tailor  to  measure  and  cut  for  their  bodies ;  but,  to  come  as  near  it  as 
possible,  he  boarded  round  (a  custom  not  yet  gone  bj') ;  and  the  wood  for 
the  common  fire  was  supjjlied  in  a  way  equally  i^rimitive — viz.,  by  a  con- 
tribution of  loads  from  the  several  families  according  to  their  several 
quantities  of  childhood.  The  children  were  all  clothed  alike  in  home- 
spun ;  and  the  only  signs  of  aristocracy  were  that  some  were  clean  and 
some  a  degree  less  so,  some  in  fine  white  and  striped  linen,  some  in  brown 
tow  crash :  and,  in  particular,  as  I  remember  with  a  certain  feeling  of 
quality  I  do  not  like  to  express,  the  good  fathers  of  some  testified  the 
opinion  they  had  of  their  children  hj  bringing  fine  round  loads  of  hick- 
ory wood  to  warm  them,  while  some  others,  I  regret  to  say,  brought  only 
scanty,  scraggy,  ill-looking  heaps  of  green  oak,  white  birch,  and  hemlock. 
Indeed,  about  all  the  bickerings  of  quality  among  the  children  centred 
in  the  quality  of  the  wood-jDile.  There  was  no  comiilaiut,  in  those  days, 
of  the  want  of  ventilation  ;  for  the  large  open  fireplace  held  a  consider- 
able fraction  of  a  cord  of  wood,  and  the  windows  took  in  just  enough  air 
to  sujiply  the  combustion.  Besides,  the  bigger  lads  were  occasionally 
ventilated  by  being  sent  out  to  cut  wood  enough  to  keej)  the  fire  in  ac- 
tion. The  seats  were  made  of  the  outer  slabs  from  the  saw-mill,  sujDport- 
ed  by  slant  legs  driven  into,  and  a  proper  distance  through,  auger-holes, 
and  planed  smooth  on  the  top  by  the  rather  tardy  process  of  friction. 
But  the  spelling  went  on  bravely,  and  we  cijihered  away  again  and  again, 
always  till  we  got  through  Loss  and  Gain.  The  more  advanced  of  us, 
too,  made  light  work  of  Lindley  Murray,  and  went  on  to  the  parsing, 
finally,  of  extracts  from  Shakespeare  and  Milton,  till  some  of  us  began  to 
think  we  had  mastered  their  tough  sentences  in  a  more  consequential 
sense  of  the  term  than  was  exactly  true.  Oh,  I  remember  (about  the  re- 
motest thing  I  can  remember)  that  low  seat,  too  high,  nevertheless,  to 
allow  the  feet  to  touch  the  floor,  and  that  friendly  teacher  who  had  the 


EARLY  LIFE  AT  HOME.  11 

address  to  start  a  first  feeling  of  enthusiasm  and  awaken  the  first  sense 
of  power.  He  is  living  still ;  and  whenever  I  think  of  him  he  rises  up  to 
me  in  the  far  l)ackground  of  memory  as  bright  as  if  he  had  worn  the 
seven  stars  in  his  hair.  (I  said  he  is  living ;  yes,  he  is  here  to-day,  God 
bless  him  !)  How  many  others  of  you  that  are  here  assembled  recall 
these  little  primitive  universities  of  homespun,  where  your  mind  was 
born,  with  a  similar  feeling  of  reverence  and  homely  satisfaction !  Per- 
haps you  remember,  too,  with  a  pleasure  not  less  genuine,  that  you  re- 
ceived the  classic  discipline  of  the  university  proper  under  a  dress  of 
homespun,  to  be  graduated,  at  the  close,  in  the  joint  honors  of  broad- 
cloth and  the  parchment. 

"  Passing  from  the  school  to  the  church,  or,  rather  I  should  say,  to  the 
meeting-house  (good  translation,  whether  meant  or  not,  of  what  is  older 
and  more  venerable  than  churcli — viz.,  synagogue),  here,  again,  you  meet 
the  picture  of  a  sturdy  homespun  w'orship.  Probably  it  stands  on  some 
hill,  midway  between  three  or  four  valleys,  whither  the  tribes  go  up  to 
worship,  and,  when  the  snow-drifts  are  deepest,  go  literally  from  strength 
to  strength.  There  is  no  furnace  or  stove,  save  the  foot-stoves  that  are 
filled  from  the  fires  of  the  neighboring  houses,  and  brought  in  partly  as 
a  rather  formal  compliment  to  the  delicacy  of  the  tender  sex,  and  some- 
times because  they  are  really  wanted.  The  dress  of  the  assembly  is  mostly 
homespun,  indicating  only  slight  distinctions  of  quality  in  the  worshippers. 
They  are  seated  according  to  age,  the  older  in  front  near  the  pulpit,  and 
the  younger  farther  back,  enclosed  in  pews,  sitting  back  to  back,  im- 
pounded, all,  for  deep  thought  and  spiritual  digestion  ;  only  the  deacons, 
sitting  close  under  tlie  pulpit,  by  themselves,  to  receive  as  their  distinc- 
tive honor  the  more  perpendicular  droppings  of  the  word.  Clean  round 
the  front  of  the  gallery  is  drawn  a  single  row  of  choir,  headed  by  the  key- 
pipe  in  the  centre.  The  pulpit  is  overhung  by  an  august  wooden  canopy, 
called  a  sounding-board  — study  general,  of  course,  and  first  lesson  of 
mystery  to  the  eyes  of  the  children  until  what  time  their  ears  are  open- 
ed to  understand  the  spoken  mysteries. 

"  There  is  no  aftectation  of  seriousness  in  the  assembly,  no  mannerism 
of  worship;  some  w'ould  say,  too  little  of  the  manner  of  worship.  They 
think  of  nothing,  in  fact,  save  what  meets  their  intelligence  and  enters 
into  them  by  that  method.  They  appear  like  men  who  have  a  diges- 
tion for  strong  meat,  and  have  no  conception  that  trifles  more  delicate 
can  be  of  any  account  to  feed  the  system.  Nothing  is  dull  that  has 
the  matter  in  it,  nothing  long  that  has  not  exhausted  the  matter.  If 
the  minister  speaks  in  his  great-coat  and  thick  gloves  or  mittens,  if  the 
howling  blasts  of  winter  blow^  in  across  the  assembly  fresh  streams  of 
ventilation  that  move  the  hair  upon  their  heads,  they  are  none  the  less 
content  if  only  he  gives  them  good,  strong  exercise.  Under  their  hard 
and,  as  some  would  say,  stolid  faces,  great  thoughts  are  brewing,  and 


12  LIFE   OF   HORACE   BUSHNELL. 

these  keep  them  warm.  Free-will,  fixed  ftite,  foreknowledge  absolute, 
Trinity,  redemption,  special  grace,  eternity  — give  them  anything  high 
enough,  and  the  tough  muscle  of  their  inward  man  will  be  climbing 
sturdily  into  it ;  and  if  they  go  away  having  something  to  think  of,  they 
have  had  a  good  day.  A  perceptible  glow  will  kindle  in  their  hard 
faces  only  when  some  one  of  the  chief  apostles — a  Day,  a  Smith,  or  a 
Bellamy— has  come  to  lead  them  up  some  higher  pinnacle  of  thought,  or 
pile  upon  their  sturdy  mind  some  heavier  weight  of  argument ;  fainting 
never  under  any  weight,  even  that  which,  to  the  foreign  critics  of  the  dis- 
courses preached  by  them  and  otliers  of  their  day,  it  seems  impossible  for 
any,  the  most  cultivated  audience  in  the  w^orld,  to  have  supported.  Oh 
these  royal  men  of  homespun,  how  great  a  thing  to  them  was  religion ! 

"  True,  there  was  a  rigor  in  their  piety,  a  want  of  gentle  feeling;  their 
Christian  graces  were  cast-iron  shapes,  answering  with  a  hard,  metallic 
ring.  But  they  stood  the  rough  wear  of  life  none  the  less  durably  for  the 
excessive  hardness  of  their  temperament,  kept  their  fiimilies  and  com- 
munities none  the  less  truly,  though  it  may  be  less  benignly,  under  tlie 
sense  of  God  and  religion.  If  we  find  something  to  modify  or  soften 
in  their  over-rigid  notions  of  Christian  living,  it  is  yet  something  to  know 
that  what  we  are  they  have  made  us,  and  that  when  we  have  done  bet- 
ter for  the  ages  that  come  after  us  we  shall  have  a  more  certain  right  to 
blame  their  austerities. 

"View  them  as  we  may,  there  is  yet,  and  always  will  be,  something 
magnificent  in  their  stern,  practical  fidelity  to  their  principles.  If  they 
believed  it  to  be  more  Scriptural  and  Christian  to  begin  their  Sunday,  not 
with  the  Western,  but  with  the  Jewish  and  other  Eastern  nations,  at  the 
sunset  on  Saturday,  their  practice  did  not  part  company  with  their  prin- 
ciples ;  it  was  sundown  at  sundown,  not  somewhere  between  that  time 
and  the  next  morning.  Thus  I  remember  being  despatched,  when  a  lad, 
one  Saturday  afternoon  in  the  winter,  to  bring  home  a  few  bushels  of 
apples  engaged  of  a  farmer  a  mile  distant ;  how  the  careful,  exact  man 
looked  first  at  the  clock,  then  out  of  the  window  at  the  sun,  and,  turning 
to  me,  said,  'I  cannot  measure  out  the  apples  in  time  for  you  to  get  home 
before  sundown ;  you  must  come  again  Monday ;'  then  how  I  went  home, 
venting  my  boyish  impatience  in  words  not  exactly  respectful,  assisted 
by  the  sunlight  playing  still  upon  the  eastern  hills,  and  got  for  my  com- 
fort a  very  unaccountably  small  amount  of  specially  silent  sympathy. 

"  I  have  never  yet  ascertained  whether  that  refusal  was  exactly  justi- 
fied by  the  patriarchal  authorities  appealed  to  or  not.  Be  that  as  it  may, 
have  what  opinion  of  it  you  will,  I  confess  to  you,  for  one,  that  I  recall 
the  honest,  faitliful  days  of  homespun  represented  in  it— days  when  men's 
lives  went  by  their  consciences,  as  tlieir  clocks  did  by  the  sun — with  a 
feeling  of  profoundest  reverence.  It  is  more  than  respectable— it  is  sub- 
lime. .  .  . 


EARLY  LIFE  AT   HOME.  13 

"The  sons  and  daughters  grew  up,  all,  as  you  will  perceive,  in  the 
closest  habits  of  industry.  The  house  was  a  factory  on  the  farm,  the 
farm  a  grower  and  producer  for  the  house.  The  exchanges  went  on 
briskly  enough,  but  required  neither  money  nor  trade.  No  affectation 
of  polite  living,  no  languishing  airs  of  delicacy  and  softness  in-doors,  had 
begun  to  make  the  fathers  and  sons  impatient  of  hard  work  out  of  doors, 
and  set  them  at  contriving  some  easier  and  more  plausible  way  of  living. 
Their  very  dress  represented  work,  and  they  went  out  as  men  whom  the 
wives  and  daughters  had  dressed  for  work ;  facing  all  weather,  cold  and 
hot,  wet  and  dry ;  wrestling  with  the  plough  on  the  stony-sided  hills ; 
digging  out  the  rocks  by  hard  lifting  and  a  good  many  very  practical 
experiments  in  mechanics;  dressing  the  flax ;  threshing  the  rye ;  dragging 
home  in  the  deep  snows  the  great  wood-pile  of  the  year's  consumption ; 
and  then,  when  the  day  was  ended,  having  no  loose  money  to  spend  in 
taverns,  taking  their  recreation,  all  together,  in  reading  or  singing,  or 
happy  talk,  or  silent  looking  in  the  fire,  and  finally  in  sleep— to  rise  again 
with  the  sun,  and  pray  over  the  ftimily  Bible  for  just  such  another  good 
day  as  the  last.  And  so  they  lived,  working  out,  each  year,  a  little  ad- 
vance of  thrift,  just  within  the  line  of  comfort. 

"  No  mode  of  life  was  ever  more  expensive ;  it  was  life  at  the  expense 
of  labor  too  stringent  to  allow  the  highest  culture  and  the  most  proper 
enjoyment.  Even  the  dress  of  it  was  more  expensive  than  we  shall  ever 
see  again.  Still  it  was  a  life  of  honesty  and  simple  content  and  sturdy 
victory.  Immoralities,  that  rot  down  the  vigor  and  humble  the  con- 
sciousness of  families,  were  as  much  less  frequent  as  they  had  less 
thought  of  adventure,  less  to  do  with  travel  and  trade  and  money,  and 
were  closer  to  nature  and  the  simple  life  of  home. .  .  . 

"  It  was  also  a  great  point,  in  tliis  homespun  mode  of  life,  that  it  im- 
parted exactly  what  many  speak  of  only  with  contempt,  a  closely  girded 
habit  of  economy.  Harnessed,  all  together,  into  the  producing  process, 
young  and  old,  male  and  female,  from  the  boy  that  rode  the  plough- 
horse  to  the  grandmother  knitting  under  her  spectacles,  they  had  no 
conception  of  squandering  lightly  what  they  all  had  been  at  work,  thread 
by  thread,  and  grain  by  grain,  to  produce.  They  knew  too  exactly  what 
everything  cost,  even  small  things,  not  to  husband  them  carefully.  Men  of 
patrimony  in  the  great  world,  therefore,  noticing  their  small  way  in  trade 
or  expenditure,  are  ready,  as  we  often  see,  to  charge  them  with  mean- 
ness, simply  because  they  knew  things  only  in  the  small ;  or,  what  is 
not  fiir  different,  because  they  were  too  simple  and  rustic  to  have  any 
conception  of  the  big  operations  by  which  other  men  are  wont  to  get 
their  money  without  earning  it,  and  lavish  the  more  freely  because  it  was 
not  earned.  Still,  this  knowing  life  only  in  the  small,  it  will  be  found,  is 
really  anything  but  meanness. 

"Probably  enough,  tlie  man  who  is  heard  threshing  in  his  barn  of  a 


14  LIFE   OF   HORACE   BUSHNELL. 

wiiitev  evening  by  the  light  of  a  hxntern  (I  knew  such  an  example)  will 
be  seen  driving  his  team  next  clay,  the  coldest  day  of  the  year,  through 
the  deep  snow  to  a  distant  wood  lot,  to  draw  a  load  for  a  present  to  his 
minister.  So  the  housewife  that  higgles  for  a  half-hour  with  the  mer- 
chant over  some  small  trade  is  yet  one  that  will  keep  watch,  not  unlike- 
ly, when  the  schoolmaster,  boarding  round  the  district,  comes  to  some 
hard  quarter,  and  commence  asking  him  to  dinner,  then  to  tea,  then  to 
stay  over  night,  and  literally  boarding  him  till  the  hard  quarter  is  pass- 
ed. Who  now,  in  the  great  world  of  money,  will  do  as  much,  propor- 
tionally as  much,  in  any  of  the  jiure  hospitalities  of  life?  ,  .  . 

"  When  the  hard,  wiry-looking  patriarch  of  homespun  sets  off  for  Hart- 
ford or  Bridgeport  to  exchange  the  little  surplus  of  his  year's  produc- 
tion, carrying  his  provision  with  him  and  the  fodder  of  his  team,  and 
taking  his  boy  along  to  show  him  the  great  world,  you  may  laugh  at  the 
simplicity,  or  pity,  if  you  will,  the  sordid  look  of  the  picture ;  but,  five  or 
ten  years  hence,  this  boy  will  like  enough  be  found  in  college,  digging 
out  the  cents'-worth  of  his  father's  money  in  hard  study ;  and  some  twen- 
ty years  later  he  will  be  returning,  in  his  honors,  as  the  celebrated  judge 
or  governor,  or  senator  and  public  orator,  from  some  one  of  the  great 
states  of  the  republic,  to  bless  the  sight  once  more  of  that  venerated  pair 
who  shaped  his  beginnings  and  planted  the  small  seeds  of  his  future 
success.  Small  seeds,  you  may  have  thought,  of  meanness ;  but  now 
they  have  grown  up  and  blossomed  into  a  large-minded  life,  a  generous 
public  devotion,  and  a  free  benevolence  to  mankind." 

The  allusion,  in  the  account  of  the  school,  to  the  generous 
fair-dealing  of  the  father  who  sent  to  the  school-house  solid 
loads  of  straight  hickory  touches  upon  what  was  a  special 
point  of  boyish  pride  w^ith  him  concerning  his  own  father. 
The  closing  paragraphs,  too,  evidently  contain  family  history. 
A  longer  journey  than  one  to  Hartford  or  Bridgeport  oc- 
curred when  he  was  about  six  years  old.  He  went  with  his 
father  and  mother  to  visit  the  paternal  grandparents  living 
in  Vermont ;  and,  naturally  enough,  the  strongest  impressions 
which  remained  of  this  long  journey  in  their  own  wagon  were 
of  the  weariness  and  hunger  of  the  last  day's  travel  through 
what  was  then  a  wilderness,  and  of  his  enjoyment  of  the 
coarse  brown  bread  which  his  father  obtained  at  a  chance 
farm-house.  The  exquisite  flavor  of  that  brown  bread  was  a 
pleasant  memory  all  his  life.  An  impression  of  a  higher  kind 
was  made  upon  the  child  by  his  grandmother.  We  shall  soon 
hear  from  him  how  strongly  he  was  impressed  by  her  original 


EARLY   LIFE   AT   HOME.  15 

and  magnetic  character.  But  one  letter  from  lier  to  liini  re- 
mains. It  is  dated  1823,  and  begins  thus :  "  In  your  mind 
view  your  grandmother,  confined  very  much  to  lier  room, 
with  her  Bible  in  her  lap,  trying  to  write  to  you,  my  child. 
On  account  of  the  weakness  of  my  side,  I  cannot  sit  at  a  table 
to  write.  You  cannot  expect  anything  but  my  good-will,  for 
old  age  has  shaken  me  by  the  hand  and  left  a  tremble." 

The  religious  impressions  of  childhood  which  he  was  able 
to  recall  in  later  life  were  of  the  simplest  and  most  natural 
kind,  coming  to  him  unforced,  often  in  the  fields,  and  quick- 
ened by  his  delight  in  nature,  impressions,  as  he  said,  "not 
of  fear,  nor  in  a  sense  of  wrong,  but  in  a  sense  of  the  divine 
beauty  and  majesty."  There  was  a  fine  gray  bowlder  in  the 
pasture  back  of  the  house  and  above  it,  where  he  sometimes 
went,  when  only  a  boy,  to  watch  the  sun  rise,  and  where  in 
morning  freshness  the  boy's  heart  rose,  too,  in  prayer.  He 
has  also  told  us  how,  one  Sunday,  on  his  way  home  from  church, 
he  was  moved  to  stop  and  pray  under  the  shadow  of  a  hay- 
stack. All  this  he  called,  in  his  brief  record  of  the  facts, 
"early  dew,  dim" — the  natural  heaven-refreshing  of  the  young 
soul  mistily  remembered.  In  all  the  days  of  youthful  labor 
on  the  farm  or  in  the  mill,  Xature  was  his  chosen  companion, 
and  foster-mother  of  his  imagination  in  craft  beyond  the  skill 
of  schoolmasters.  They  were  "days  of  victorious  health, 
sound  digestion,  peaceful  sleep,  and  youthful  spirits  buoyant 
as  the  wing  of  the  bird,  and  fresh  as  its  morning  song."  If 
work  abounded,  play  was  not  wanting ;  and  thus  he  grew  a 
ruddy-cheeked,  lively  boy,  as  full  of  fun  and  animal  spirits  as 
of  an  earnest  inward  purpose.  This  was  especially  true  after 
the  age  of  twelve,  when  he  had  a  low  fever  and  came  near 
death ;  but,  that  danger  past,  a  favorable  change  seemed  to 
have  been  wrought  in  his  constitution,  and  "he  developed 
greater  vigor  and  strength. 

In  school,  where  he  kept  his  own  rather  quiet  and  good- 
natured  way,  he  first  learned  the  need  of  combat  and  the 
pleasure  of  conquest.  Awaking  suddenly  to  the  perception 
of  the  fact  that  his  good-nature  was  mistaken  for  weakness, 
and  that  he  was  being  made  the  butt  of  the  school  bullies,  he 


IG  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

chose  the  roughest  and  the  most  intolerable  of  these,  a  much 
bigger  boy  than  himself,  and  gave  him,  in  the  presence  of 
the  school,  so  spirited  a  thrashing  as  to  establish  his  own  char- 
acter for  courage  bejond  a  doubt.  No  more  fighting  was 
uecessar}',  and  he  was  glad  to  relapse  into  his  old  peaceable 
relations  with  his  schoolmates.  In  his  studies  he  was  not  pre- 
cocious ;  but  when  under  the  stimulus  of  ambition,  he  could 
apply  himself  with  great  intensity.  Put  into  a  class  of  Eng- 
lish grammar  with  some  grown-up  girls,  and  determined,  boy- 
like, not  to  be  outdone  by  them,  he  gave  himself  so  intently 
to  the  study,  that  it  possessed  him  day  and  night ;  and  it  was 
at  this  time  that  his  mother  overheard  him  parsing  in  his 
sleep.  A  schoolmate,  the  son  of  a  near  neighbor,  writes :  "  I 
knew  Horace  Bushnell  up  to  the  age  of  fourteen  years,  seeing 
him  almost  daily,  though  we  were  never  playmates — I  was 
his  elder  by  four  years,  I  think — and  I  only  remember  him  as 
an  affable,  sprightly,  frolicsome  boy,  fond  of  sport  and  hearty 
laughter,  and  of  a  highly  happy  temperament.  His  ideas 
seemed  to  flow  rapidly,  and  he  uttered  them  fluently ;  but  I 
used  to  think  that  he  lacked  the  power  to  concentrate  his 
thoughts  upon  any  subject  for  more  than  a  moment.  He 
learned  readily  when  he  applied  himself  to  study ;  but  I  think, 
at  that  age,  he  would  rather  play  than  study.  He  would  keep 
up  with  the  best  of  his  class  though,  whether  he  played  or 
studied.  I  well  remember  meeting  him  while  he  was  a  stu- 
dent in  Yale  College,  and  that  I  was  greatly  surprised  at  the 
improvement  in  him  since  I  knew  him  in  his  boyhood.  His 
mind  had  greatly  expanded,  his  observations  were  quick  and 
accurate,  and  his  conversation  and  deportment  gave  evidence 
of  study,  thought,  and  high  aim.  I  said  to  myself,  '  Horace 
Bushnell  will  make  his  mark.'  " 

His  father  was  not  only  farmer,  but  manufacturer,  and  had, 
in  the  hollow  below  the  farm,  a  little  mill  for  finishing  do- 
mestic cloths,  and  a  carding-machine  to  which  the  neighbors 
brought  their  wool.  Machinery  supplemented,  but  did  not 
yet  supersede,  hand-labor.  At  the  age  of  fourteen,  and  for 
five  years  afterwards,  Horace  was  employed  in  the  different 
departments  of  the  mill  in  summer,  always  going  to  school  in 


EARLY   LIFE   AT  HOME.  17 

winter,  but  with  "off  turns"  upon  the  farm,  ploughing  and 
harvesting,  in  spring  and  autumn.  Even  in  the  first  year  of 
mill-work,  having  entire  charge  of  the  carding-maehine  in  a 
separate  building  where  he  worked  alone,  and  finding  it  out 
of  order,  he  took  it  entirely  apart,  repaired,  improved,  and  re- 
constructed it.  His  taste  for  mechanics  led  him  to  study 
and  invent  improvements  in  the  machinery,  and  may  have 
been  one  cause  among  others  of  his  declining  a  college  educa- 
tion offered  him  at  this  time  by  his  parents.  In  such  a  busy, 
hard-working  life,  it  would  seem  as  if  opportunities  for  men- 
tal culture  must  have  been  lacking ;  but  to  a  mind  like  his 
there  is  education  in  everything.  He  "]3ut  extortion  upon 
common  things,"  and  extracted  the  wine  of  life  by  pressure. 
We  shall  see  by-and-by  how  he  learned  music.  In  many  other 
branches  of  study  he  was  his  own  master,  and  discovered  by 
exploring.  In  the  winter  of  181Y,  he  was  sent  to  the  high- 
school  at  Warren  ;  and  the  next  winter  to  a  classical  school 
just  opened  on  New  Preston  hill,  where  he  began  the  study 
of  Latin. 

An  early  friend  (Professor  Henry  Day)  writes  concerning 
this  period:  "I  recollect  him  as  a  stout,  resolute,  self-reliant, 
bright,  practical,  kindly  boy,  a  leader  and  a  favorite.  He 
was  free  from  little  vices,  of  irrej^roachable  morals  in  a  very 
moral  family  and  community,  truthful  and  every  way  trust- 
worthy. The  earliest  fact  that  I  recall  in  my  intercourse  with 
him  was  his  telling  me,  one  day  when  we  were  in  bathing,  in 
his  characteristic,  decisive  way,  to  plunge  into  dee])  water,  al- 
though I  could  not  swim,  assuring  me  that  he  would  help  me 
if  I  needed  help.  My  confidence  in  him  was  such  that  I 
plunged  in  unhesitatingly,  and  found  that  I  did  not  need 
further  help  than  the  confidence  he  had  already  inspired 
within  me. 

"When  the  ]^ew  Preston  Academy  was  opened,  in  1818, 
we  were,  for  the  first  time,  schoolmates.  The  monitorial 
system  was  introduced,  under  which  the  older  boys  served 
successively  as  monitors,  to  watch  and  report  delinquencies  in 
the  school.  When  it  came  round  to  Bushnell's  turn,  he  refused 
to  serve,  saying  that  he  came  there  to  study,  himself,  not  to 


18  LIFE   OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

watcli  other  students.  The  monitorial  system  was  abandoned. 
After  this  I  was  away  from  home  at  school,  and  saw  him  only 
in  vacations  ;  but  I  recall  one  or  two  trivial  incidents,  which, 
however,  to  me  exemplify  that  remarkable  degree  of  ready 
and  sound  common-sense  which  he  possessed  in  union  with  a 
brilliant  imagination.  He  was  fond  of  fishing.  Observing 
that  the  pickerel  generally  seized  the  bait — commonly  a  min- 
now or  a  piece  of  a  larger  fish — while  it  was  hauled  in,  he 
conceived  the  idea  that  a  white  rag,  with  a  little  sand  in  it 
for  a  sinker,  would  answer  the  purpose  just  as  well ;  the  pick- 
erel would  seize  it,  and,  as  its  teeth  point  in  and  back,  would 
be  unable  to  let  go  if  the  rag  were  rapidly  hauled  in.  The 
device  proved  a  most  successful  one.  One  day  we  went  to- 
gether to  the  lake  for  a  sail.  We  found  the  only  boat  to  be 
had  so  out  of  equipment  for  use  in  respect  of  mast  and  sail 
that  the  boat-master  said  he  could  not  possibly  rig  it  up  for 
our  use.  Bushnell  took  the  matter  in  hand,  and  in  a  half- 
hour  rigged  out  the  boat  with  mast  and  sail  and  ropes,  and 
so  we  had  a  delightful  sail.  The  wind,  however,  was  light. 
Bushnell  called  me  to  the  rudder,  saying,  'I  will  Cjuicken  our 
speed  a  little.'  He  took  the  bailing-dish,  and,  by  throwing  a 
few  basins  of  water  on  the  sail,  he  made  it,  by  this  simple  ex- 
pedient of  swelling  the  threads,  hold  wind  which  before  had 
passed  through  them.     Our  speed  was  perceptibly  increased." 

It  was  not  only  his  ingenuity  which  was  brought  into  exer- 
cise by  this  out-door  life.  He  was  keenly  perceptive  of  natu- 
ral scenery  in  a  way  peculiar  to  himself.  It  was  not  only  the 
picture  which  filled  his  eye  and  kindled  his  imagination,  but 
the  recesses  of  nature — something  unknown,  which  he  could 
study  and  intellectually  explore.  It  was  his  habit  to  survey 
by  his  eye  the  lines  of  the  hills  and  valleys,  and  to  print  thus 
upon  his  mind  a  map  of  the  surfaces.  This  became  a  favorite 
study  in  after-life,  and  he  carried  it  so  far  that  if  a  railroad 
were  projected  through  a  region  which  he  knew,  he  could 
mark  out  from  memory  its  most  feasible  route. 

From  another  classmate,  who  passed  several  weeks  of  a  win- 
ter in  the  Bushnell  family,  w^e  learn  that  Horace,  then  be- 
tween sixteen  and  seventeen  years  old,  was  nearly  a  man  in 


EAKLY   LIFE   AT   HOME.  19 

stature,  and  a  healthy,  mnseular  fellow.  He  was  very  genial 
at  home,  full  of  jokes  and  bright  sayings,  interesting  in  con- 
versation, and  fond  of  writing  droll  doggerel  for  the  amuse- 
ment of  the  other  young  people.  He  was,  however,  always 
ready  for  a  more  strenuous  use  of  his  powers,  and  especially 
for  their  exercise  in  debate.  When  only  a  boy,  he  had  be- 
longed to  a  debating-society,  and  from  that  time  on  was  eager 
for  the  intelligent  discussion  of  any  subject,  wherever — at  the 
village  store  or  elsewhere — he  found  a  group  of  talkers.  It 
is  superfluous,  almost,  to  add  that  his  opinions  were  his  OM'n, 
and  independently  expressed.  He  liked  a  trial  of  muscle  as 
well  as  of  bi-ains,  and  challenged  some  of  the  best  wrestlers  of 
the  region  to  combats  that  were  not  unequal. 

His  father  was  a  justice  of  the  peace,  and  it  belonged  to  his 
office  to  hold  a  little  court  for  the  settlement  of  such  disputes 
as  arise  between  neighboring  landholders.  In  the  discharge 
of  this  duty  he  was  much  respected  for  the  impartiality  and 
fairness  of  his  decisions ;  but,  finding  himself  sometimes  per- 
plexed, he  occasionally  made  his  eldest  son  his  associate  in  the 
work,  and  consulted  with  him  at  the  close  of  an  argument, 
relying  more  upon  his  judgment  than  upon  his  own.  This 
doubtless  fostered  the  son's  taste  for  the  study  of  law ;  and 
shows  that  if  his  mind  was  not  judicial,  it  was,  at  least,  adapt- 
ed to  the  sifting  and  weighing  of  evidence.  These  grave 
duties,  apparently  so  far  beyond  his  age,  did  not,  however, 
repress  his  exuberance  or  make  an  old  man  out  of  the  boy. 
Sometimes  he  broke  bounds,  though  in  nothing  worse  than 
some  boyish  frolic.  He  never  transgressed  in  morals,  for 
there  was  a  wholesome  purity  about  him  which  discouraged, 
if  it  did  not  debar,  temptation — only  in  observances,  and  that 
where  the  standard  of  observances  was  a  little  unreasonably 
strict.  One  Sunday,  instead  of  going  to  church  decorously 
with  the  family,  he  went  off  with  some  companions  for  a 
frolic  and  climb  up  the  "  Pinnacle."  On  the  mountain  they 
were  caught  in  a  terrific  thunder-storm.  The  thunder  rolled, 
and  rain  poured  down  in  solid  sheets  without  a  pause.  The 
sobered  boys  took  refuge  under  a  projecting  rock  until  the 
fury  of  the  storm  had  spent  itself,  pondering,  it  is  possible, 


20  LIFE   OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

on  sermons  they  liad  heard  which  j^ainted  in  an  awful  light 
the  fate  of  the  Sabbath-breaker ;  and,  at  all  events,  as  Horace 
Bushnell  remembered,  honestly  repenting  their  disobedience 
to  authority  and  so  to  their  own  consciences.  This  little  es- 
capade was  mnch  talked  of  at  the  time  in  the  village,  and  is 
even  yet  remembered  in  that  church-going  community. 

As  to  his  religious  standing  at  this  time  we  have  the  best 
of  internal  evidence  in  a  manuscript  which  we  find  thus  en- 
dorsed by  his  maturer  hand  :  "  This  was  written,  as  I  remem- 
ber, a  sentence  or  half  a  sentence  at  a  time,  while  tending  a 
carding-machine,  and  before  I  made  a  profession  of  religion. 
I  was  probably  seventeen  years  of  age."  The  paper  is  yellow 
with  the  stains  of  his  toil,  the  handwriting  rather  stiff,  the 
logic  and  theology  very  much  so.  The  subject  is  the  ninth 
of  Romans,  and  he  wrestles  manfully  with  the  chapter, 
out  of  which  and  the  connected  chapters  Calvinism  has  ex- 
tracted some  of  its  most  indigestible  doctrines.  The  essay 
opens  with  a  characteristic  attempt  to  prove  that  in  the  third 
vei-se,  wliere  Paul  "  wishes  himself  accursed  from  Christ  for 
his  brethren,"  he  must  have  been  mistaken  in  himself,  and 
could  not,  consistently  with  his  character  as  an  apostle,  have 
felt  such  a  willingness.  A  chain  of  logical  syllogisms  is  made 
to  support  this  conclusion.  In  the  following  pages  he  works 
his  way  through  the  doctrines  of  election,  predestination,  and 
the  sovereignty  of  God,  on  all  of  which  points  he  seems  to 
have  been  at  that  day  soundly  orthodox.  The  method  through- 
out is  strictly  logical,  and  has  no  trace  of  the  spiritual  insight 
which  later  characterized  his  thought  on  these  and  kindred 
subjects.  (As  he  grew  older,  he  abandoned  formal  logic,  in 
which  he  was  a  youthful  adept,  as  childish,  just  as  some  other 
men,  maturing,  throw  away  their  poetry  and  sentiment.)  There 
are,  however,  occasional  turns  of  phraseology  similar  to  those 
which  gave  so  peculiar  a  flavor  to  his  later  style,  and  which, 
though  they  seem  unnatural  to  some  minds,  were  altogether 
native  to  his.  Crude  as  this  paper  is,  it  must  have  cost  the 
young  workman  much  study,  and  it  proves  that,  far  from 
having  in  youth  any  infidel  tendencies,  as  some  have  suspect- 
ed, his  mind  was  striving  to  adapt  itself  to  the  standard  re- 


EARLY  LIFE   AT   HOME.  21 

ligioiis  teachings  of  the  day.  If  any  other  evidence  of  that 
sort  were  needed,  we  could  offer  it  abundantly. 

Another  short  paper,  kept  with  the  one  already  mention- 
ed, bears  the  following  superscription,  written  in  later  life: 
"  Saved  as  a  record  of  dates.  IS^ot  wonderful  that  a  Christian 
life  begun  in  such  crudity — if,  indeed,  it  was  begun,  which 
was  afterwards  doubted  —  required  many  turns  of  loss  and 
recovery  to  ripen  it."  The  original  date  was  March  3,  1822. 
"  A  year  since,"  he  says,  "  the  Lord,  in  his  tender  mercy,  led 
me  to  Jesus.  Four  months  since,  in  the  presence  of  God  and 
angels  and  men,  I  vowed  to  be  the  Lord's,  in  an  everlasting 
covenant  never  to  be  broken.  But  alas,  alas,  O  my  God  !  how 
often  in  the  past  year,  or  even  in  the  last  four  months,  have  I 
dishonored  thy  cause  and  lost  sight  of  my  Redeemer !  ...  If 
I  should  never  sin  again,  it  would  not  atone  for  what  is  past. 
What  can  I  do?  .  .  .  Lord,  here  I  am,  a  sinner.  Take  me. 
Take  all  that  I  have  and  shall  have ;  all  that  I  am  and  shall 
be ;  and  do  with  me  as  seemeth  good.  If  thou  hast  anything 
for  me  to  do ;  if  thou  hast  anything  for  me  to  suffer  in  the 
cause  of  that  Saviour  on  whom  I  rest  my  all,  I  am  ready  to 
labor,  to  suffer,  or  to  die.  I  am  ready  to  do  anything  or  be 
anything  for  thee."  After  he  had  joined  the  church,  he  en- 
gaged for  a  time  enthusiastically  in  religious  work.  There 
was  a  little  brown  school-house  in  the  outskirts  of  the  village, 
which  he  used  to  point  out  as  the  place  where  he  had  "first 
tried  his  hand  as  a  leader  of  religious  meetings." 

Beginning  now,  at  the  age  of  nineteen,  to  long  for  the  col- 
lege education  he  had  once  refused,  he  applied  himself  dili- 
gently to  study  with  this  end  in  view.  A  young  lawyer,  late- 
ly graduated  from  Yale  College,  was  taken  into  the  family,  in 
the  hope  that  he  would  lend  his  assistance  to  these  studies. 
Chiefly  alone,  however,  for  a  time,  and  finally  with  the  Eev. 
Horace  Hooker,  of  Watertown,  he  made  a  rather  imperfect 
preparation  for  college.  Feeling  the  confinement  of  study 
under  these  circumstances  to  be  unfavorable  to  his  health, 
and  with  his  habitual  impatience  of  delay,  he  went  to  New 
Llaven  in  the  early  summer  of  1823,  anticipating  by  two 
months  the  usual  time  of  examination,  and  was  admitted  to 


22  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

Yale  College.  He  then  went  back  gladly  to  farm-work  for 
the  summer,  and,  as  a  recreation,  bnilt  the  solid  stone  dam 
above  his  father's  mill,  which  is  still  standing,  a  good  piece 
of  workmanship.  He  was  specially  fond  of  stone- masonry, 
because  it  demands  good  planning  and  a  quick  eye  for  corre- 
sponding surfaces.  A  friend  relates  that,  one  day  when  he 
was  suffering  from  a  toothache,  he  built  a  rod  or  two  of  stone- 
wall, which  rather  singular  remedy,  he  said,  relieved  liim  com- 
pletely. 

And  so  the  old  simple  life  of  home  drew  to  a  close,  and 
rural  society  was  left  behind  for  what  he  then  called  "the 
great  world  of  college."  It  was  not  strange  that  it  should 
have  seemed  great  and  full  of  excitement  to  the  young  man 
whose  social  experience  had  been  hitherto  of  tlie  quiet  kind 
depicted  in  his  "Homespun"  picture.  We  quote  once  more 
his  own  words : — 

"  If  we  speak  of  what  in  the  polite  world  is  called  society,  our  home- 
spun age  liad  just  none  of  it ;  and  perhaps  the  more  of  society  for  that 
reason,  because  what  they  had  was  separate  rom  all  the  polite  fictions 
and  empty  conventionalities  of  the  world.  It  was  the  society,  not  of  the 
Nominalists,  but  of  the  Realists ;  society  in  or  after  work ;  spontaneously 
gathered,  for  the  most  part,  in  terras  of  elective  affinity ;  foot  excursions 
of  young  people,  or  excursions  on  horseback,  after  the  haying,  to  the  tops 
of  the  neighboring  mountains;  boatings  on  the  river  or  the  lake  by 
moonlight,  filling  the  wooded  shores  and  the  recesses  of  the  hills  with 
lively  echoes  ;  evening  schools  of  sacred  music,  in  which  the  music  is  not 
so  much  sacred  as  preparing  to  be ;  evening  circles  of  young  persons 
falling  together,  as  they  imagine,  by  accident,  round  some  village  queen 
of  song,  and  chasing  away  the  time  in  ballads  and  glees  so  much  faster 
than  they  wish  that  just  such  another  accident  is  like  to  happen  soon; 
neighbors  called  in  to  meet  the  minister  and  talk  of  both  worlds  together, 
and,  if  he  is  limber  enough  to  sufier  it,  in  such  happy  mixtures  that  both 
are  melted  into  one. 

"  But  most  of  all  to  be  remembered  are  those  friendly  circles  gathered 
so  often  round  the  winter's  fire — not  the  stove,  but  the  fire — the  brightly 
blazing,  hospitable  fire.  In  tlie  early  dusk,  the  home  circle  is  drawn 
more  closely  and  quietly  round  it ;  but  a  good  neighbor  and  his  wife 
drop  in  shortly  from  over  the  way,  and  the  circle  begins  to  spread.  Next 
a  few  young  folk  from  the  other  end  of  the  village,  entering  in  brisker 
mood,  find  as  many  more  chairs,  set  in  as  wedges  into  the  periphery,  to 
receive  them  also.     And  then  a  friendly  sleighful  of  old  and  young, 


EARLY   LIFE   AT    HOME.  23 

that  bave  come  down  from  tlie  liill  to  spend  an  hour  or  two,  spread  the 
circle  again,  moving  it  still  farther  back  from  the  fire ;  and  the  fire  blazes 
just  as  much  higher  and  more  brightly,  having  a  new  stick  added  for 
every  guest.  There  is  no  restraint,  certainly  no  affectation  of  style.  They 
tell  stories,  they  laugh,  they  sing.  They  are  serious  and  gay  by  turns ; 
or  the  young  folks  go  on  with  some  play,  while  the  fathers  and  mothers 
are  discussing  some  hard  point  of  theology  in  the  minister's  last  sermon ; 
or,  perhaps,  the  great  danger  coming  to  sound  morals  from  the  multi- 
plication of  turnpikes  and  newspapers  !  Meantime  the  good  housewife 
brings  out  her  choice  stock  of  home-grown  exotics,  gathered  from  three 
realms  :  doughnuts  from  the  pantry,  hickory-nuts  from  the  chamber,  and 
the  nicest,  smoothest  apples  from  the  cellar;  all  which,  including,  I  sup- 
pose I  must  add,  the  rather  unpoetic  beverage  that  gave  its  acid  smack 
to  the  ancient  hospitality,  are  discussed  as  freely  with  no  fear  of  conse- 
quences. And  then,  as  the  tall  clock  in  the  corner  of  the  room  ticks  on 
majestically  towards  nine,  the  conversation  takes,  it  may  be,  a  little  more 
serious  turn,  and  it  is  suggested  that  a  very  happy  evening  may  fitly  be 
ended  with  a  prayer.  Whereupon  the  circle  breaks  up  with  a  reverent, 
congratulative  look  on  every  flice,  which  is  itself  the  truest  language  of 
a  social  nature  blessed  in  human  fellowship." 

3 


24  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 


CHAPTEK  II. 

SKETCHES  OF  HIS  GRANDMOTHER  AND  MOTHER, 

Written  by  Dr.  Bushuell  in  1874,  at  the  request  of  friends. 

It  has  been  my  good  fortune  to  be  descended  from  two  of 
the  very  best  and  noblest  women,  my  grandmother  on  my 
father's  side  and  my  mother,  I  wish  that  by  some  brief  trib- 
ute I  could  fitly  commemorate  their  character  and  story. 

My  grandfather,  Abraham  Bushnell,  resided  with  his  wife 
many  years  after  their  marriage  at  Canaan  Falls,  Connecticut. 
Whether  her  real  name  was  Mary  or  only  Molly,  which  was 
her  way  of  signature,  I  do  not  know.  When  she  had  become 
the  mother  of  twelve  children  and  the  population  of  the  home 
territory  was  getting  too  large  for  its  means  of  supply,  they 
made  up  their  minds  to  seek  relief  by  emigration.  A  large 
farm  was  bought  in  the  condition  of  forest,  close  under  the 
Green  Mountain  range,  in  the  town  of  Starksborough,  Ver- 
mont, and  to  this  they  led  forth  their  colony.  My  father, 
shortly  to  be  of  age,  went  with  them  to  help  their  rough  be- 
ginnings and  get  them  in  a  way  to  live. 

Afterwards,  when  he  had  now  a  little  family  begun  in  Con- 
necticut, and  I,  the  eldest,  was  about  six  years  old,  he  took  us 
up  to  visit  the  grandparents.  He  also  took  me  again  for  an- 
other visit  when  I  was  twelve  or  thirteen  years  old.  It  was 
only  on  these  two  visits  that  I  ever  saw  my  grandmother. 
But  her  figure  and  manner  impressed  me  so  distinctly  that  I 
sometimes  fancy  I  can  see  her  now.  Her  height  was  less  than 
five  feet.  Her  form  was  slight  and  perfectly  erect.  Her 
step  was  elastic,  as  if  she  had  something  to  do  and  was  doing 
it.  Her  sharj)  black  eye  seemed  to  smite  intelligence  into  peo- 
ple and  almost  into  things  about  her.  She  was  a  very  decided 
Methodist  in  her  religion,  yet  given  more  to  ways  of  sound 


HIS  SKETCH  OF  HIS  GRANDMOTHER.  25 

perception  than  to  rliapsodies  and  frames  of  experience.  She 
had  been  a  member  for  many  years  of  the  Calvinistic  Church 
in  South  Canaan,  but  had  been  so  dreadfully  swamped  in  get- 
ting her  experience  through  the  five-point  subtleties  that  she 
nearly  went  distracted.  But  a  Methodist  preacher  happened 
to  come  that  way,  and  she  went  to  hear  him.  His  word 
brought  light.  She  came  out  of  all  her  troubles  into  a  large 
place,  where  the  joy  of  the  Lord  lifted  her  burdens  and  took 
away  the  horror  under  which  she  lay.  Plenceforth  she  could 
only  be  a  Methodist ;  and  she  went  out  in  the  emigration 
carrying  a  large  stock  of  Methodist  books  with  her,  to  do 
what  she  could  in  laying  foundations.  As  yet  there  was  no 
public  worship  in  the  settlement.  But  as  soon  as  the  new 
log-house  was  ready,  she  undertook  to  make  it  a  place  for 
Sunday  worship.  She  put  it  on  her  husband,  a  very  modest, 
plain  man,  to  offer  a  prayer.  And  she  selected  a  young  man, 
about  twenty  years  of  age,  whose  family  she  knew  in  Con- 
necticut, to  read  the  sermon.  She  had  no  thought  of  his 
being  a  Christian,  and  he  had  as  little  of  being  such  himself. 
She  only  knew  him  as  a  jovial,  hearty  youth,  with  enough  of 
the  constitutional  fervors  in  him,  as  she  thought,  to  make  a 
good  reader,  and  that  determined  her  choice.  He  read  well, 
and  continually  better,  as  he  had  more  experience,  till  finally 
her  prayers  began  to  find  large  expectation  in  him. 

Advancing  in  this  manner,  she  by-and-by  selected  a  sermon 
in  which  she  hoped  he  might  preach  to  himself.  He  read 
with  a  fervor  and  unction  that  showed  he  was  fulfilling  her 
hope.  When  the  little  assembly  broke  up,  she  accosted  him, 
asking  him  to  remain  a  few  minutes  after  they  were  gone. 
Then  she  said  to  him,  having  him  by  himself,  "  Do  you  know, 
my  dear  young  friend,  that  you  have  God's  call  upon  you  to 
be  a  Methodist  preacher?"  "No,"  he  answ^ered,  promptly, 
"  I  am  not  even  a  Christian ;  how  can  I  be  called  to  be  a 
preacher?"  "j^o  matter  for  that,"  she  replied,  "you  are 
called  both  to  be  a  Christian  and  a  preacher ;  and  one  for  the 
sake  of  the  other,  even  as  Paul  himself  was !  I  think  I  say 
this  by  direction.  And  now  let  me  request  of  you,  on  your 
way  home,  to  go  aside  from  the  path  into  some  quiet  place 


26  LIFE   OF   HORACE   BUSHNELL. 

iu  the  woods,  where  yon  will  not  be  interrupted,  and  tliere 
let  this  matter  he  settled  before  God,  and  as  he  will  help 
you." 

The  result  was  that  he  reached  home  with  the  double  call 
upon  him  both  of  a  disciple  and  a  minister  of  God.  And 
thus  began  the  public  story  of  the  great  Bishop  Iledding, 
one  of  the  most  talented  and  grandly  executive  men  of  the 
Methodist  Episcopal  Church — led  into  his  work  and  office, 
we  may  say,  by  the  counsel  and  prayers  of  his  woman-bishop 
guide. 

I  can  think  of  this  dear  grandmother  only  with  a  certain 
respect  that  carries  the  sense  of  wonder.  It  is  not  simply 
that  she  brought  up  her  twelve  children  to  be  men  and  wom- 
en of  mature  age  and  heads  of  families,  sprinkled  all  the  way 
between  Illinois  and  Vermont,  never  one  of  them  to  falter  in 
character  or  suffer  any  least  stain  of  dishonor ;  neither  is  it 
that  the  little  "  church  in  the  house,"  first  planted  by  her, 
still  lives  to  bear  witness  for  her ;  but  I  have  her,  somehow,  in 
a  more  immediate,  more  interior  witness.  Though  I  knew 
her  only  in  my  childhood,  and  then  only  on  visits  twice  made 
of  a  few  days  each,  she  has  been  almost  visibly  with  me,  and 
going,  as  it  were,  through  me  by  a  kind  of  subtle  waft,  down 
to  the  present  hour.  Other  persons  and  things  of  that  early 
date  are  gone  out,  or  only  dimly  remembered,  but  she  remains 
almost  visibly  distinct.  Whether  it  is  that  she  made  impres- 
sions on  my  childhood  by  means  I  do  not  recall,  or  whether, 
by  sending  me  messages  and  verses  of  her  own  composing  in 
the  letters  to  m}-  father,  she  knit  into  my  feeling  the  convic- 
tion that  she  had  religious  expectations  for  me,  felt  but  not 
expressed,  I  do  not  know.  But  somehow  she  has  been  always 
with  me,  and  upon  me,  felt  as  a  silent,  subtly-operative  pres- 
ence of  good.  Perhaps  it  is  only  my  fancy ;  but  such  fancies 
come  by  laws,  and  cannot  be  raised  by  everybody.  At  any 
rate,  I  have  the  very  best  reasons  to  be  satisfied  that  she  had 
a  character  so  rich  in  good  impulse  and  suggestion. 

My  mother,  Dotha  Bushnell,  whose  family  name  was  Bish- 
op before  her  marriage,  was  of  a  naturally  retiring  disposi- 


HIS  ACCOUNT  OF  HIS  MOTHER.  27 

tion,  and  was  never  specially  conspicuous  in  her  storj-.  She 
had  no  advantages  of  wealth  or  family  connection  above  the 
level  of  industrious  respectability.  Iler  field  was  in  her  fam- 
ily, and  there  it  was  that  she  won  her  best  honors  and  proved 
the  superiority  which  everybody  felt  in  her  character.  Her 
slender  person,  her  gray-blue  eye  and  softly  tinted  complex- 
ion, indicated  a  certain  fragility  and  fineness  of  mould,  such 
as  made  her  great  physical  endurance  and  tenacity  the  more 
remarkable.  For  it  was  her  lot  to  bear  severities  of  toil  that 
would  have  reduced  almost  any  other  woman  to  the  level  of 
a  drudge.  But  no  token  of  the  drudge  was  ever  seen  upon 
her,  wdiether  on  her  person,  her  manners,  or  her  conversation. 
It  was  as  if  she  had  a  double-funded  nature,  that,  taking  all 
the  wear  upon  the  inferior  part,  saved  the  nobler — the  moral 
and  social — from  any  show  of  infringement. 

She  had  none  but  a  common -school  education;  and  her 
well-spoken,  well -written  English,  and  her  general  compe- 
tence in  subjects  discussed  by  intelligent  people,  were  based  in 
that  very  humble  outfit.  Knowing  nothing  of  society  in  the 
great- world  sense,  she  was  still  never  fumed  or  disconcerted, 
when  thrown  upon  it,  in  a  way  to  make  her  feel  her  inferior- 
ity ;  but  the  forms  and  conventionalities  she  did  not  know 
she  had  the  good  sense  to  extemporize  for  herself,  only  doing 
it  under  a  certain  cover  of  modesty  that  made  her  way  more 
interesting.  Nobody  meeting  her  in  such  times  or  conditions 
would  be  apt  to  imagine  the  hard-favored  roughness  of  her 
story.  She  was  providing  and  training  her  six  children,  cloth- 
ing her  whole  family  in  linens  and  woollens,  spun,  every  thread, 
and  made  up  in  the  house,  to  a  great  extent,  also,  by  herself. 
She  had  a  farm-and-dairy  charge  to  administer,  also  the  farm 
workmen  to  board,  and  for  five  or  six  months  in  a  year  the 
workmen,  besides,  of  a  homespun  cloth-dressing  shop.  All  this 
routine  she  kept  m.oving  in  exact  ofder  and  time,  steady  and 
clean  as  the  astronomic  year  ;  silent,  too,  I  might  almost  say, 
as  the  year;  for  there  was  not  friction  enough  for  much 
noise,  and  scarcely  enough  to  make  the  motion  audible.  What 
mortal  endurance  could  bear  such  a  stress  of  burden !  And 
yet  she  scarcely  showed  a  look  of  damage  under  the  wear  of 


2S  LIFE  OF   HORACE   BUSIINELL. 

it,  but  kept  the  ajipcaraiiec  rather  of  a  woman  of  some  con-' 
dition. 

The  religion  of  the  house  was  composite— that  of  the  hus- 
band, in  his  rather  Arminian  type,  received  from  his  mother ; 
and  that  of  the  wife,  in  the  Episcopal,  from  hers  ;  and  that  of 
the  C^dvinistic  Congregational  Church,  in  which  they  were 
now  both  members,  having  early  removed  to  this  second  place 
of  residence,  -where  they  drop  their  Episcopal  connection,  and 
take  their  opportunities  as  they  find  them  under  the  vener- 
able, just  now  departing  father  of  President  Day.     In  this 
way,  their  first  child  had  it  always  for  his  satisfaction,  as  far 
as  he  properly  could,  that  he  was  Episcopally  regenerated.     I 
remember  how,  returning  home,  after  second  service,  to  liis 
rather  late  dinner,  my  father  would  sometimes  let  the  irrita- 
tion of  his  hunger  loose,  in  harsher  words  than  were  compli- 
mentary, on  the  tough  predestinationisni  or  the  rather  over- 
total  depravity  of  the  sermon ;  whereupon  he  encountered  al- 
ways a  begging -off  look  from  the  other  end  of  the  table, 
which,  as  f  understood  it,  said,  "[N^ot,  for  the  sake  of  the  chil- 
dren."    It  was  not  the  Calvinism  that  she  cared  for;  but  she 
wanted  the  preacher  himself  kept  in  respect,  for  the  benefit  of 
the  family.     In  which,  unquestionably,  she  had  the  right  of  it. 
More  than  this,  it  was  her  nature  that,  lively  and  sharp  as  her 
excitabilities  were,  she  could  never  help  acting  in  the  line  of 
discretion.     She  was,  in  fact,  the  only  person  I  have  known  in 
the  close  intimacy  of  years  who  never  did  an  inconsiderate, 
imprudent,  or  any  way  excessive  thing  that  recpiired  to  be 
afterwards  mended.     In  this  attribute  of  discretion  she  rose 
even  to  a  kind  of  sublimity.     I  never  knew  her  give  advice 
that  was  not  perfectly  justified  by  results.      Her  religious 
duties  and  graces  were  also  cast  in  this  mood — not  sinking 
their  fiavor  in  it,  but  having  it  raised  to  an  element  of  supe- 
rior, almost  divine,  perception.     Thus  praying  earnestly  for 
and  with  her  children,  she  was  discreet  enough  never  to  make 
it  unpleasant  to  them  by  too  great  frequency.    She  was  a  good 
talker,  and  was  often  spoken  of  as  the  best  Bible  teacher  in 
the  congregation  ;  but  she  never  fell  into  the  mistake  of  try- 
ing to  talk  her  children  into  religion.     She  spoke  to  them  at 


HIS   ACCOUNT   OF   HIS   MOTHER.  29 

fit  times,  but  not  nearly  as  frequently  as  many  mothers  do 
that  arc  far  less  qualified.  Whether  it  was  meant  or  not, 
there  was  no  atmosphere  of  artificially  pious  consciousness  in 
the  liouse.  And  yet  she  was  preaching  all  the  time  by  her 
maternal  sacrifices  for  us,  scarcely  to  be  noted  without  tears. 

Whether  she  had  any  theory  for  it,  I  do  not  know ;  but  it 
came  to  pass,  somehow,  that  while  she  was  concerned  above 
all  things  to  make  her  children  Christian,  she  nndertook  lit- 
tle in  the  way  of  an  immediate  divine  experience,  but  let  her- 
self down,  for  the  most  part,  upon  the  level  of  habit,  and  con- 
descended to  stay  upon  matters  of  habit,  as  being  her  human- 
ly allotted  field,  only  keeping  visibly  an  upward  look  of  ex- 
pectation, that  what  she  may  so  prepare  in  righteous  habit 
will  be  a  house  builded  for  the  occupancy  of  the  Spirit.  Her 
stress  was  laid  thus  on  industry,  order,  time,  fidelity,  reverence, 
neatness,  truth,  inteUigence,  prayer.  And  the  drill  of  the 
house  in  these  was  to  be  the  hope,  in  a  great  degree,  of  re- 
ligion. Thus,  in  regard  to  the  first,  industry,  there  was  al- 
ways something  for  the  smallest  to  do — errands  to  run,  berries 
to  pick,  weeds  to  pull,  earnings  all  for  the  common  property, 
in  which  he  thus  begins  to  be  a  stockholder.  So  for  both 
sexes  and  all  sizes ;  and  how  very  close  up  to  the  gateway  of 
God  is  every  child  brought  who  is  trained  to  the  consenting 
obedience  of  industry  !  Indeed,  there  is  nothing  in  these  early 
days  that  I  remember  with  more  zest  than  that  I  did  the  full 
work  of  a  man  for  at  least  five  years  before  the  manly  age ; 
this,  too,  under  no  eight-hour  law  of  j^rotective  delicacy,  but 
holding  fast  the  astronomic  ordinance  in  a  service  of  from 
thirteen  to  fourteen  hours.  So  of  truth ;  I  do  not  remember 
ever  hearing  any  one  of  the  children  accused  of  untruth.  We 
were  not  always  perfect  in  our  neatness,  I  confess,  but  we  had 
abundant  opportunity  to  be  made  aware  of  it.  This  habit- 
discipline,  I  scarcely  need  say,  came  very  near  being  a  gate  of 
religion  for  us  all.  No  child  of  us  ever  strayed  so  far  as  not 
to  find  himself  early  in  a  way  of  probable  discipleship. 

There  was  also  a  use  made  of  the  school  that  j^repared  us 
to  order  and  right,  by  the  drill  of  the  social  principle,  where 
we  learned  what  was  due  to  others  on  a  larger  scale,  and  what 


30  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSIINELL. 

detriment  they  might  do  us  by  their  bad  example.  '  Our  good 
mother  liad  faith  in  the  scliool,  and  set  herself  to  it  on  prin- 
ciple to  be  a  helper  of  the  school,  as  she  exp)ected  help  from 
it.  She  passed  inspection  of  us  every  morning,  and  kept  us 
in  good  repair  for  it ;  that  is,  in  better,  cleaner  homespun  than 
any  others  of  the  children.  She  sent  us  off  early,  and  allowed 
us  never  to  arrive  late ;  and  as  to  being  truant  on  the  way,  the 
thing  was  never  thought  of.  She  knew  exactly  what  our  stud- 
ies were,  and  what  kind  of  progress  we  were  making.  The 
result  was  that  more  than  half  our  school  life  had  its  springs 
at  home,  in  the  presidency  there  maintained  and  the  approba- 
tions there  bestowed.  She  learned,  in  this  manner,  the  capac- 
ity and  promise  of  her  children  ;  for  if  the  enthusiasm  of  study 
was  kindled,  it  could  not  escape  her.  I  shall  never  forget 
her  look  when  she  told  us,  one  morning  at  breakfast,  how  she 
sat  the  night  before  upon  my  bed,  and  heard  me  parsing 
in  sleep,  word  for  word,  a  whole  fable  in  Webster's  Spelling- 
book,  adding  for  commendation,  with  an  air  of  amusement, 
that  only  one  or  two  little  mistakes  needed  to  be  corrected. 
She  was  able,  also,  in  the  school  to  compare  her  children  with 
others,  and  form  some  tolerable  judgment  of  their  successes 
in  a  higher  grade  of  privilege.  She  told  me,  thus,  when  little 
more  than  a  child  at  the  district  school,  that  my  father  had 
consented  to  let  me  have  a  college  education.  Probably,  too, 
they  had  heard  things  from  my  teachers  that  made  them 
think  I  might  grow  to  something.  Is  it  not  likely,  also,  that 
a  great  many  parents  would  hear  the  same  tiling,  if  only  they 
could  help  the  school  enough  by  their  painstaking  to  give  it 
the  necessary  hold  of  respect  in  their  children  ? 

If  it  should  seem  to  any,  in  this  little  sketch,  that  our  fam- 
ily discipline  was  too  stringent  or  closely  restrictive,  they 
would  fall  into  great  mistake.  There  was  restriction  in  it,  as 
there  ought  to  be.  And  yet,  when  I  look  back,  I  scarce  know 
where  to  find  it.  Ko  hamper  was  ever  put  on  our  liberty  of 
thought  and  choice.  We  w^ere  allowed  to  have  our  own  ques- 
tions, and  had  no  niggard  scruples  forcea  upon  us.  Only  it 
was  given  us  for  a  caution  that  truth  is  the  best  thing  in  the 
M'orld,  and  that  nobody  can  afford  to  part  with  it,  even  for  an 


HIS  ACCOUNT  OF  HIS  MOTHER.  31 

hour.  Tims  we  talked  freedom  and  meant  conservatism,  and 
talked  conservatism  and  meant  freedom  ;  and,  as  we  talked, 
we  thought. 

There  is  another  little  chapter  in  our  family  story  that  we 
cannot  afford  to  pass ;  for  it  brought  on  the  family  to  an  ad- 
vanced grade  in  character  and  respect.  Finding  me  intent  on 
knowing  something  about  music,  my  good  mother  procured 
me  a  book,  and  taught  me  the  very  little  that  she  knew,  the 
letters  of  the  gamut,  the  key-note  and  how  to  find  it,  the  in- 
tervals and  times  of  the  notes.  But  this  was  only  book,  and 
still  the  question  was,  how  to  put  in  the  voice ;  and  this  she 
could  not  tell  me,  for  it  is  a  matter  too  abstruse  for  anybody 
till  after  a  beginning  made  by  example.  But  she  could  sing 
what  she  had  learned  by  the  ear,  and  there  we  made  a  begin- 
ning. Presently  I  took  to  watching  the  notes,  observing  how 
the  intervals  and  times  kept  along,  and  shortly  began  to  al- 
most sing  with  us ;  till,  finally,  I  took  the  hint  of  a  reverse 
process — that  as  here  we  had  been  singing  airs  we  knew  into 
notes  we  did  not,  so  I  might  learn  to  sing  airs  I  did  not  know 
oiit  of  similar  notations,  to  be  learned  by  practice  and  com- 
parison. This  unlocked  the  method,  and  further  progress  af- 
ter this  was  easy.  The  result  was  that  our  little  family  grew 
into  a  very  pretty  choir  in  a  few  years'  time,  and  the  whole 
family  world  was  changed.  We  had  no  dissipations  abroad, 
because  our  vacant  spaces  were  filled  with  hymns  and  glees 
and  such-like  humorous  and  sentimental  pleasures.  Let  any- 
body laugh  who  will  at  the  probable  merit  of  the  music ;  we 
thought  it  good,  because  it  did  us  good.  And  now,  at  this 
far-off  day,  after  we  have  heard  a  great  deal  of  the  richest 
and  most  cultivated  music,  there  is  nothing  we  remember 
with  so  much  delight  and  affection  as  the  in-door  pleasures 
thus  enjoyed. 

There  is  yet  another  chapter  in  this  recital  which  is  even 
more  personal  to  me,  and  in  which  ray  dear  mother  bore  a 
part  that  to  me  seems  worthy  of  the  tenderest  admiration. 
I  speak  of  M'hat  was  done,  largely  by  her,  to  set  me  forward 
in  a  liberal  education  and  prepare  me  for  the  Christian  min- 
istry.    Perhaps  she  was  ambitious,  though  I  never  saw  the 


32  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

faintest  token  of  it ;  but  I  have  seen  a  great  many  tokens  that 
she  loved  the  kingdom  of  Christ,  and  wanted  nothing  so  much 
as  to  have  her  sons  enlisted  in  its  propagation.  She  also  had 
the  satisfaction,  before  her  work  was  done,  of  seeing  two  of 
her  sons,  tlie  oldest  and  the  youngest,  consecrated  thus  to  the 
special  service  of  her  Master.  Her  first  offer  to  me  of  a  lib- 
eral education,  just  now  referred  to,  I  peremptorily  declined; 
for  how  could  an  awkward  country -boy  think  of  going  in 
among  the  great  folk  of  a  college.  But  about  five  years  later, 
when  brought  distinctly  under  motives  of  religion,  I  asked  the 
opportunity  for  myself.  Now  it  was  too  late.  The  homespun 
was  going  rapidly  out  of  use,  and  the  business  concerned  in 
its  production  was  growing  less  and  less  profitable.  But  my 
mother,  who  in  this  could  hardly  submit  even  to  necessity, 
called  a  congress  of  the  family,  where  we  drew  the  calculation 
close,  and  made  up  our  bill — I  to  wear  homespun  to  the  end, 
use  only  second-hand  books,  and  pay  the  bills  of  my  last  year 
myself ;  the  family  to  institute  a  closer  economy,  for  my  sake, 
which  they  somehow  found  a  place  to  do,  though  I  never  could 
see  where. 

I  was  graduated,  and  then,  a  year  afterwards,  when  my  bills 
were  paid,  and  when  the  question  was  to  be  decided  whether 
I  should  begin  the  preparation  of  theology,  I  was  thrown 
upon  a  most  painful  struggle  by  the  very  evident,  quite  in- 
contestable fact  that  my  religious  life  was  utterly  gone  down. 
And  the  pain  it  cost  me  was  miserably  enhanced  by  the  dis- 
appointment I  must  bring  on  my  noble  Christian  mother  by 
withdrawing  myself  from  the  ministry.  I  had  run  to  no 
dissipations;  I  had  been  a  church -going,  thoughtful  man. 
My  very  difficulty  Avas  that  I  was  too  thoughtful,  substituting 
thought  for  everything  else,  and  expecting  so  intently  to  dig 
out  a  religion  by  my  head  that  I  was  pushing  it  all  the  while 
practically  away.  Unbelief,  in  fact,  had  come  to  be  my  ele- 
ment. My  mother  felt  the  disappointment  bitterly,  but  spoke 
never  a  M'ord  of  complaint  or  upbraiding.  Indeed,  I  have 
sometimes  doubted  whether  God  did  not  help  her  to  think 
that  she  knew  better  than  I  did  what  my  becoming  was  to  be. 

At  the  college  vacation  two  years  after  my  graduation, 


HIS   ACCOUNT   OF   HIS   MOTHER.  33 

when  I  had  been  engaged  in  Law  stndies  for  a  year,  I  was  ap- 
pointed to  a  tutorship.     But  I  had  decided  on  going  into  a 
law-ofhce  in  Ohio,  and  had  no  thought  of  taking  my  appoint- 
ment.    A  fortnight  after  reaching  home,  I  wrote  a  letter  to 
President  Day,  declining  the  appointment.     As  I  was  going 
out  of  the  door,  putting  the  wafer  in  my  letter,  I  encountered 
my  mother  and  told  her  what  I  was  doing.     Kemonstrating 
now  very  gently,  but  seriously,  she  told  me  that  she  could  not 
think  I  was  doing  my  duty.    "  You  have  settled  this  question 
without  any  consideration  at  all  that  I  have  seen.     Now,  let 
me  ask  it  of  you  to  suspend  your  decision  till  you  have  at  least 
put  your  mind  to  it.     This  you  certainly  ought  to  do,  and  my 
opinion  still  further  is" — she  was  not  apt  to  make  her  deci- 
sion heavy  in  this  manner— "  that  you  had  best  accept  the 
place."     I  saw  at  a  glance  where  her  heart  w^as,  and  I  could 
not  refuse  the  postponement  suggested.     The  result  was  that, 
going  on  a  wedding  excursion  the  next  day  with  friends,  I  was 
so  long  occupied  by  it  that  I  felt  a  little  delicacy  now  in  de- 
clining the  appointment.     And  then  it  followed,  as  a  still  fur- 
ther result,  that  I  was  taken  back  to  New  Haven,  where,  part- 
ly by  reason  of  a  better  atmosphere  in  religion,  I  was  to  think 
myself  out  of  my  over-thinking,  and  discover  how  far  above 
reason  is  trust.     A  short  matter,  then,  it  was  to  find  my  way 
back  into  the  plan  of  life  in  which  I  started,  and  which  I  still 
regarded  with  longings  scarcely  abated.     And  now,  as  I  look 
back  on  the  crisis  here  passed,  it  seems  very  much  like  the 
question  whether  I  should  finally  he.     No  other  calling  but 
this  ministry  of  Christ,  I  am  obliged  to  feel,  could  have  any- 
wise filled  my  inspirations  and  allowed  me  to  sufficiently  be. 

And  in  all  these  points — my  education  ;  my  exchange,  with- 
out upbraiding,  of  the  ministry  for  the  law;  my  return  to 
New  Haven,  which  was  to  be  my  exchange  from  the  law  to 
the  ministry,  especially  the  two  occasions  last  named — I  ac- 
knowledge my  sole  indebtedness,  not  so  much  to  my  mother 
simply,  as  to  the  very  remarkable  something  hidden  in  her 
character.  Other  w^omen  are  motherly  enough,  tender,  self- 
sacrificing,  faithful ;  but  what  I  owe  to  her,  I  owe  to  her  won- 
derful insight  and  discretion.    By  pushing  with  too  much  argu- 


34:  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

ment ;  by  words  of  upbraiding  and  blame  ;  by  a  teasing,  over- 
afflicted  manner ;  or  by  requiring  me  to  stand  to  my  engage- 
ments, she  could  liave  easily  thrown  me  out  of  range  and  kept 
me  fatally  back  from  self-recovery  —  nay,  she  might  have 
thrown  me  quite  off  the  hinge  of  good-nature,  and  have  so  far 
battered  the  conceit  of  home  as  to  leave  it  no  longer  a  bond 
of  virtue.  But  she  went  to  her  mark  instead,  sure  and  still 
as  the  heavens,  and  said  just  nothing,  save  when  it  was  given 
her.  Such  wisdom,  as  I  look  upon  it,  marks  a  truly  great 
character ;  and  it  is  a  character  not  common,  whether  to  men 
or  women.  I  have  only  to  add  that  she  lived  long  enough  to 
see  some  pleasant  fruits  of  her  life  and  to  hope  for  more. 


AT  YALE  COLLEGE.  35 


CHAPTER  III. 

1823-1827. 
AT    YALE    COLLEGE. 

In  September,  1S23,  when  Horace  Buslmell  entered  Yale 
College,  he  was  twenty-one  years  old,  a  full-grown  man,  of  a 
remarkably  robust  physique,  and  of  a  strong  and  wiry  frame. 
His  head,  which  was  of  unusual  size  and  broad  as  it  was  high, 
appeared  yet  larger  under  its  thick  masses  of  black  hair, 
which  also  served  to  heighten  the  ruddiness  of  his  complexion 
and  the  brilliancy  of  his  deep-set  gray  eye.  Those  who  knew 
him  only  in  later  life,  when  the  intellectual  and  spiritual  had 
eclipsed  the  physical,  can  hardly  imagine  him  to  have  looked 
as  his  classmates  describe  him  in  the  vigorous  days  of  his 
youth.  His  dress  and  manners  were  "homespun,"  not  care- 
less, but  possessed  rather  of  a  certain  rude  propriety.  The 
self-confidence  apparent  in  his  bearing  had  its  root  in  so  much 
vigor  and  genuine  power  that  it  did  not  offend.  It  was,  per- 
haps, fortunate  for  him  that  he  had  not  entered  college  ear- 
lier. His  growth  was  not  of  that  succulent  kind  that  ripens 
early.  He  resembled  rather  those  hardy  Xorthern  fruits  which 
mature  their  rich  flavor  and  mellow  their  strong  fibre  only 
after  a  long  season  of  out-door  air  and  sunshine.  In  full  and 
conscious  possession  of  his  very  original  powers,  he  was  yet 
probably  not  in  advance  of  his  class  in  mental  training,  since 
his  schooling  had  been  of  so  meagre  a  kind  and  so  often  in- 
terrupted. But  the  foundations  on  which  he  was  now  to  build 
w^ere  good.  He  had  sound  health,  a  clear  conscience,  strong 
home  affections,  and  pure  tastes.  He  loved  nature,  music, 
and  bodily  activity;  and  deep  down  was  the  spring  of  that 
religious  life  which  was  to  make  its  way  underground  through 
the  darkness  of  years,  and  up  into  the  light  at  last. 


36  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

For  tlie  history  of  his  college  course  we  are  indebted  to 
friends,  who  have  kindly  furnished  much  of  the  material  which 
follows  in  this  chapter. 

In  regard  to  his  intellectual  outfit,  the  Kev.  Dr.  Coleman, 
his  college  tutor,  writes :  "  I  have  a  very  distinct  recollection 
of  Dr.  Bushnell  as  a  student  in  college.  His  examination  for 
admission  indicated  a  rude,  original,  discriminating  mind — 
self-possessed  and  self-reliant,  foreshadowing  the  future  man. 
By  the  discipline  of  the  college,  these  mental  characteristics 
were  only  developed,  matured,  and  wrought  into  greater  sym- 
metry and  fairer  proportions,  as  the  statue,  rough-hewn,  under 
successive  hands  receives  a  finer  finish.  In  his  class  he  soon 
came  to  the  front,  and  retained  his  position  without  any  am- 
bitious strife  for  preferment.  To  the  contests  for  distinction 
in  recitation  he  never  condescended.  He  studied  for  a  no- 
bler end,  and  by  his  native  talent  became  a  ready  proficient 
in  any  study  to  which  his  attention  was  directed.  He  was  a 
regular  attendant  on  the  routine  and  rules  of  life  in  college, 
not  apparently  as  a  requisition,  but  in  conformity  rather  to 
his  own  sense  of  propriety  and  convenience. 

"  While  kindly  to  all,  he  had,  according  to  my  impressions, 
few  confidential  friends  or  intimates.  He  lived  the  life  of  a 
scholar,  original,  retired,  peculiar,  and  independent,  who  had 
an  interior  life  with  which  neither  stranger  nor  friend  could 
intermeddle — never  less  alone  than  when  alone  with  himself 
and  his  books.  Of  the  pupils  whose  acquaintance  I  have 
made  during  a  course  of  instruction  through  fifty  years,  few 
have  left  on  my  mind  impressions  of  their  personal  identity 
more  clear  and  abiding.  Few,  very  few,  do  I  recall  with 
more  sincere  respect  or  with  affection  more  unimpaired  by 
the  lapse  of  years." 

His  own  opinion  of  his  beginnings  in  college  was  not  so 
flattering.  He  says,  "My  figure  in  college  was  not  as  good 
as  it  should  have  been,  especially  at  first,  grew  better,  and 
came  out  well ;  but  my  religious  character  went  down." 

A  year  or  two  before  entering  college,  while  still  under  the 
strong  habitual  infiuences  of  home,  he  had  accepted,  rather 
than  wrought  out,  the  faith  of  his  youth.     Now,  for  the  first 


AT   YALE   COLLEGE.  37 

time,  the  gvent  untried  world  of  thought  opened  before  him, 
and  his  active  mind  launched  out  upon  a  sea  of  doubt.  The 
familiar  old  doctrines,  which  habit  had  made  to  seem  true, 
came  now  to  the  test  of  new  standards,  and,  in  the  darkness, 
were  challenged  for  their  password.  His  outward  influence, 
meantime,  was  a  positive  one  for  the  right,  and  his  classmates 
recognized  the  stanchness  of  his  manly  principle.  When  his 
roommate  was  forced  by  ill-health  to  leave  college,  another 
young  man  asked  for  the  vacant  place.  He  was  a  bright  and 
attractive  fellow,  whose  social  gifts  drew  around  him  a  rather 
tempting  company  of  careless  spirits,  and  he  sought  for  him- 
self the  shelter  of  BushnelFs  maturity  and  well-known  char- 
acter. The  reply  of  the  latter  was  decisive.  "  Yes,  but  I 
have  come  here  to  work  ;  and  if  you  room  with  me,  you  must 
cut  loose  from  these  idle  fellows  and  go  to  work,  too."  The 
pledge  was  given  and  firmly  held.  A  strong  mutual  affection 
was  the  growth  of  this  alliance,  and  lasted  through  long  years 
when  opportunities  of  intercourse  were  rare.  The  remem- 
brances of  this  well-loved  chum  and  friend  are  thus  tenderly 
expressed : — 

"  Our  college  life  was  one  of  uninterrupted  friendship,  "We 
were  brothers.  I  loved  him  sincerely,  and  I  believe  he  as 
sincerely  loved  me. 

"He  was  a  conscientious  as  well  as  a  successful  student. 
No  college  duties  were  neglected,  none  slighted.  He  was  al- 
ways master  of  his  task.  The  intellectual  characteristics  which 
so  pre-eminently  distinguished  him  in  after-life,  winning  him 
a  name  in  this  country  and  in  Europe,  were  apparent  in  the 
undergraduate.  He  thought  for  himself,  and  he  thought  vig- 
orously. There  was  no  task  to  which  he  was  called  that  he 
hesitated  to  attempt ;  and  whatever  he  undertook  he  accom- 
plished. There  was  a  wonderful  consciousness  of  power.  I 
remember,  when,  on  one  occasion,  I  handed  over  to  him  the 
construction  of  a  tragedy  which  had  been  assigned  to  me,  I 
was  struck  with  the  confidence  with  which  he  girded  himself 
to  the  task — a  task  which  he  executed  with  comparative  ease 
and  with  great  credit  to  himself. 

"  His  moral  and  social  qualities  were  hardly  less  remarka- 


38  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSIINELL. 

ble  than  liis  intellectual.  lie  was  frank  and  open  as  the  day, 
Xothing  mean  could  find  a  lodgment  in  Lis  breast.  I  never 
knew  him  to  exhibit  ill-temper.  He  was  always  kind,  always 
cheerful.  If  there  were  times  when  I  would  hegin  to  feel 
touched  by  some  good-natured  witticism  of  his,  the  germ 
M-ould  invariably  flower  into  a  hearty  laugh.  Witty  and  keen, 
his  incisive  shafts  were  always  accompanied  by  so  much  play- 
ful good-humor  that  it  was  impossible  to  take  offence.  So  we 
lived  together.     Dear,  dear  chum  !" 

We  have  the  reminiscences  of  another  classmate  and  life- 
long friend  in  a  letter  from  the  Eev.  Dr.  Robert  McEwen : 
"  When  I  first  saw  Dr.  Bushnell  as  a  fellow-freshman,  in  1S23, 
he  seemed  a  full-grown  man  to  me,  for  he  was  twenty-one, 
while  I  was  but  fifteen.  He  was  mature  every  way.  Even 
that  peculiar  style  of  writing  was  his  then,  about  as  fully 
formed  as  ever.  He  was  all  energy,  both  on  the  playground 
and  in  the  division-room.  The  ambition  of  his  later  years 
bore  him  on  through  college  from  the  first  moment,  spring- 
ing forward  to  excel  in  all  things,  physical  or  intellectual ; 
for  he  was  behind  no  one  of  the  class  in  athletic  feats.  He 
was  the  same  man  as  an  undergraduate  that  he  has  been  all 
these  later  years,  with  the  same  marked  characteristics,  ex- 
cept as  they  have  been  toned  down  and  softened,  or  devel- 
oped into  truer  forms  by  a  deep  religious  experience. 

"  Though  he  came  to  college  a  church  member,  he  never 
had,  through  the  whole  four  years,  nor  for  two  years  after, 
anything  positively  or  distinctively  Christian  about  him,  save 
his  observance  of  communion  services.  My  impression  is  that 
his  consuming  love  of  study  and  his  high  ambition,  aided  by 
a  growing  spirit  of  doubt  and  difficulty  as  to  religious  doc- 
trine, was  the  secret  here.  Yet  no  word  of  this  escaped  him. 
He  undermined  the  faith  of  no  man.  He  would  have  held 
back  any  boy  of  us  all  from  any  recreancy  whatever.  His 
conscientiousness  was  scrupulous,  his  integrity  of  the  sternest 
kind,  his  honor  the  truest  and  noblest.  Let  one  incident  tell 
what  Horace  Bushnell,  the  confessor  of  Christ  without  the 
power  of  Christ,  for  seven  years,  was  in  conscientious  care 
of  his  influence  over  others: 


AT  YALE  COLLEGE.  39 

"  Our  class  had  a  rebellion  over  conic  sections,  and  all  but 
about  thirteen  of  us  were  sent  home  by  a  slow  decimation  of 
a  few  a  week.  I  had  been  drawn  out  of  the  ranks  of  the 
rebels  by  my  father's  authority.  But  the  ostracism  I  endured 
through  those  sad  days  was  not  worse  than  the  dying  by 
inches  of  men  of  character  like  Bushnell,  waiting  their  turn 
for  execution.  One  day,  when  passing  South  Entry,  ]^orth 
Middle,  lower  floor,  front  side,  corner  room,  a  voice  thrilled 
me : '  Mac,  come  in  here.'  It  was  Bushnell's.  As  I  went  in, 
his  wan  face  stamped  itself  on  me  for  life.  He  said, '  Mae,  I 
have  to  say  to  you  that  you  have  done  your  duty  to  your 
father  in  backing  out.  Do  not  mind  what  the  fellows  say. 
I  am  in  for  it,  and  I  shall  go  through.  But  you  have  done 
right.  Hold  your  head  up.'  He  was  just  the  man  that  could 
not  have  failed  to  do  his  own  heart  as  much  good  as  he  did 
mine  by  that  act.  How  the  boy  did  thank  the  man  for  that 
word !  There  w\as  not  another  than  Horace  Bushnell  that 
could  have  said  it." 

Lately  Dr.  McEwen  referred  to  this  circumstance  again  in 
a  letter  to  Mrs.  Bushnell :  "  That  was  the  finest  incident  in  my 
knowledge  of  a  certain  nobleness  in  that  glorious  man  that 
distinguished  him  from  other  men — an  incident  I  am  glad  to 
have  in  my  possession,  as  my  own,  of  a  man  I  was  proud  to 
call,  what  he  made  himself,  my  particular  friend.  I  had  the 
advantage  of  a  boy  plucked  out  by  his  father's  hand,  and  my 
manly  classmate  took  pains  to  comfort  me  with  words  of 
cheer.  He  was  the  only  one  that  did  it,  or  would  have 
thought  of  doing  it.  There  was  nothing  of  nullification  or 
sedition  in  Horace  Bushnell,  not  a  spark ;  his  moral  sense 
led  always  to  higher  modes  of  redress  than  those." 

It  is  right  and  necessary  to  explain  here  how  one  so  obedi- 
ent to  law  came  to  join  in  a  college  rebellion.  The  explana- 
tion is  to  be  found  in  the  fact  that  the  Faculty,  or  certain 
members  of  it,  had  not,  as  the  students  thought,  kept  faith 
with  them.  The  class  of  '27  were  studying  conic  sections, 
and  had  permission,  in  the  regular  course  of  studj^,  to  omit  the 
corollaries,  with  the  clear  understanding  that  they  would  not 
be  examined  on  them.     When  it  came  to  the  examinations, 

4 


40  LITE   OF   HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

however,  the  corollaries  were  included  in  the  matter  for  ex- 
amination, without  due  notice  or  opportunity  for  preparation. 
This  course  provoked  an  indignant  protest  from  the  class. 
Bushnell  looked  upon  it  as  an  unfair  and  oppressive  use  of 
authority.  Fully  aware  of  the  risk  to  his  future,  but  with  his 
uncompromising  sense  of  justice  kindled  to  white  heat,  he 
joined  his  class  in  their  revolt,  l^or,  though  he  approved  the 
young  friend  who  had  yielded  to  his  father's  authority,  did 
he  feel  ashamed  of  his  own  course,  or  regret  it,  except  on  pru- 
dential grounds.  lie  said  in  after-life  that,  though  he  thought 
a  college  rebellion  a  very  boyish  method  of  redress,  he  was 
still  of  tlie  opinion  that  in  this  case  there  had  been  an  unusual 
provocation,  and  that  he  could  not,  even  in  retrospect,  con- 
demn what  he  had  done. 

It  was  in  the  excitement  of  this  rebellion  that  he  was  first 
able  to  command  himself  in  public  speaking.  In  college  ex- 
ercises of  elocution,  which  seemed  to  him  mock  orator}'^,  and 
therefore  aimless  and  unmeaning,  he  had  never  been  able  to 
go  through  with  a  declamation.  The  situation  was  unreal, 
and  therefore  unbearably  awkward.  His  memory  failed  him 
in  his  embarrassment,  and  then  he  would  "  put  his  hands  in  his 
pockets  and  sit  down."  J^ow,  having  something  real  to  say, 
he  had  no  difficulty  in  saying  it,  and  addressed  his  fellow-stu- 
dents with  ease  and  power.  Pie  was  afterwards  a  leader  of 
debates  in  his  college  society,  and  wrote  upon  the  j^olitical 
subjects  of  the  day,  such  as  the  Missouri  Compromise,  and 
the  questions  "  Ought  the  President  of  the  United  States  to 
be  chosen  directly  by  the  people  ?"  and  "  Ought  a  court,  in  its 
decisions,  to  regard  the  former  character  of  a  criminal  ?"  The 
subjects  of  his  themes  are  rarely  metaphysical  and  never  the- 
ological. One  is  upon  "  Home,"  another  on  "  Dancing,"  an- 
other on  "Jack  Phosphorus"  —  a  satirical  character -sketch. 
One  upon  "  Ambition  "  begins  thus :  "  It  is  as  natural  for  man 
to  wish  for  an  imperishable  name  as  for  an  eternal  existence. 
The  language  of  his  heart  is,  I  can  neither  die  and  cease  to 
be,  nor  die  and  be  forgotten.  The  flowers  that  mark  the 
place  of  my  mouldering  shall  wither  and  die,  and  the  tear 
that  is  shed  at  my  departure  shall  dry  up  in  its  fountain,  yet 


AT  YALE  COLLEGE.  41 

I  will  leave  behind  me  a  name  that  shall  survive  and  be  re- 
membered." This  seems  to  have  been  one  of  the  earliest  of 
his  compositions,  and  it  is  interesting  to  know  that,  at  so  early 
a  time,  he  had  this  feeling  concerning  the  future.  In  an  essay 
on  the  subject  of  "  Genius,"  he  enforces  what  was  a  favorite 
idea  with  him,  that  the  use  which  a  man  makes  of  his  powers 
is  of  greater  consequence  than  his  original  endowments.  He 
concludes  by  saying,  "  If  I  were  to  be  asked  what  are  the  first, 
second,  and  third  requisites  to  become  a  genius,  I  would  reply, 
in  the  manner  of  Demosthenes, '  Application,  application,  ap- 
plication.' "  The  great  orator  seems  to  have  been  a  favorite 
model,  and  is  often  alluded  to  in  these  early  writings.  The 
style  in  which  they  are  written  is  rather  formal  and  abrupt. 
There  is  often  a  witty  comparison,  here  and  there  an  original 
and  singular  turn  of  expression.  The  manner  of  announcing 
a  belief  or  sentiment  is  invariably  bold  and  earnest.  He  said 
himself  that  the  tendency  of  his  mind  at  that  day  was  towards 
the  Paleyite  taste  and  style,  adding,  "  I  loved  a  good  deal  the 
prudential,  cold  view  of  things."  His  favorite  studies  through- 
out his  college  course,  however,  were  scientific,  and  not  psy- 
chological. He  devoted  himself  especially  to  chemistry,  and 
did  well  in  it.  Geology  and  astronomy  were  also  deeply  in- 
teresting to  him. 

His  recreations  were  of  the  simplest.  Never  going  into 
what  is  called  society,  and  living,  in  fact,  a  good  deal  alone,  he 
found  one  of  his  chief  pleasures  in  the  active  sports  of  the 
playground.  Tliere  his  classmates  remember  him  as  an  ath- 
letic leader,  and  there  he  won  the  free-and-easy  sobriquet  of 
"  Bully  Bush."  He  enjoyed  heartily  whatever  he  did,  and 
pursued  his  objects  with  an  intense  zest  and  relish.  His  high- 
est delight  was  in  music.  He  joined  the  college  choir,  and 
gave  it  the  support  of  his  enthusiasm  and  of  his  powerful 
voice.  In  his  junior  year,  the  music  of  the  college  chapel 
having  fallen  below  the  ordinary  standard,  a  committee  of 
three,  of  whom  he  was  one,  was  appointed  to  take  the  matter 
in  hand  and  revive  an  interest  in  music.  They  organized  the 
Beethoven  Society,  and  Mr.  Haines,  their  first  president,  writes, 
"Bushnell  did  the  principal  work,  framing  the  constitution 


42  LIFE   OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

and  proposing  the  name."  Twenty-six  years  later  lie  deliv- 
ered before  this  same  society,  on  the  occasion  of  the  opening 
of  their  new  organ,  an  address  on  "  Religious  Music,"  from 
which  we  shall  make  some  extracts  at  the  proper  time.  The 
society  still  lives,  and  has  been  useful. 

In  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Bushnell,  the  Rev.  George  Bushnell  gives 
these  slight  reminiscences  of  his  brother's  college  vacations 
spent  at  home. 

"  I  regret  that  my  recollections  of  my  brother  stop  short  of 
liis  boyhood  days,  and  that  they  present  so  indistinct  a  picture. 
The  very  farthest  point  to  which  they  reach  is  his  college  va- 
cations, when  he  was  a  man  full-grown,  and  I  a  boy  of  six  or 
eight  years,  and,  as  you  know,  he  was  never  much  at  Jiis  early 
home  after  that.  Those  vacations  made  an  era  in  my  young 
life,  and  not  much  less  significance  had  they  in  the  eyes  of  all 
the  family.  In  one  respect,  however,  I  think  it  likely  I  had 
most  occasion  to  remember  them ;  for,  while  I  was  not  old 
enough  to  share  to  the  full  the  intellectual  life  w^hich  his  com- 
ing awakened  in  the  household,  I  was  old  enough  to  have  a 
conscience,  and  had  faults  enough  to  require  chastisement,  and, 
though  kind  and,  as  I  thought,  sometimes  princely  in  his  gen- 
erosit}^,  no  other  human  being  had  such  power  to  reinforce  the 
claims  of  truth  and  duty  upon  me  as  he,  and  that,  for  the  most 
part,  by  his  simple  presence, 

"  What  a  strong  and  lithe  creature  he  was !  "What  feats  of 
agility  and  skill  could  he  execute  upon  the  turning-bar  and 
with  the  discus !  How  grand  and  spirited  was  the  psalmody 
of  the  family  and  the  church  when  he  took  it  in  hand  !  And 
what  a  new  world  of  sentiment  was  that  which  he  discovered 
to  us,  through  pieces  of  music  and  words,  all  neatly  copied 
into  books  for  home  use  by  his  own  hand !  The  eagerness 
with  which  his  coming  was  looked  for,  and  the  family  scenes 
in  which  his  was  the  central  figure;  the  open-eyed  wonder  and 
almost  awe  of  the  youngest ;  the  animation  and  admiration  of 
the  older  children ;  the  pride  and  half -deference  of  the  par- 
ents, are  quite  vivid  to  this  day.  One  or  two  occasions  I  re- 
member, even  to  the  words  used.  My  meeting  with  my  big 
brother  on  one  of  the  earliest  of  his  vacations  was  on  this 


AT  YALE   COLLEGE.  43 

wise:  I  had  come  home  in  the  evening  rather  crestfallen 
from  some  show.  Detecting  in  me,  at  a  glance,  a  dissatisfied 
and  culprit  feeling,  he  called  me  to  him,  inquiring  where  I 
iiad  been  and  how  I  had  enjoyed  it,  and,  getting  replies  cor- 
responding to  the  feeling  of  the  evening  rather  than  to  that 
of  the  morning's  anticipations,  he  asked, '  Why  did  you  go  to 
such  a  thing  as  that  ?'  '  Because  everybody  was  going,'  was 
the  reply.  '  And  that,  I  suppose,  was  what  theij  went  for. 
The  next  time,'  he  added, '  that  you  see  the  whole  world  doing 
something,  be  sure  not  to  go  with  them,  unless  you  have  some 
better  reason.' 

"  A  gentleman  (I  think  he  was  a  clergyman)  dined  with 
the  family  one  day  when  my  brother  was  at  home.  It  was 
during  the  prevalence  of  the  cholera.  The  whole  party  was 
very  sober,  and  this  gentleman,  in  particular,  ate  not  so  much 
with  gladness  and  thankfulness  as  with  exceeding  daintiness 
and  apprehensiveness  of  death  in  the  pot.  Succotash  was  one 
of  the  dishes  which  he  refused,  and  rather  cautioned  the  fam- 
ily against.  My  brother  was,  if  possible,  more  jubilant  than 
usual,  and  especially  devoted  to  his  favorite  succotash  ;  to  the 
horror,  at  last,  of  the  visiting  brother,  who  had  much  to  say  of 
the  wisdom  of  a  spare  diet,  and  of  eating  only  such  things  as 
we  were  sure  would  agree  with  us.  '  No,  sir,'  said  my  brother, 
'  if  a  thing  disagrees  with  you,  eat  it  again.  That  is  my  rule. 
It  has  to  agree  with  me,not  I  with  it;  otherwise  my  appetite 
would  get  to  be  as  vicious  as  old  Pomp ' — a  great,  lazy  family- 
horse,  given  to  shying  on  the  slightest  possible  occasions,  to 
the  no  small  risk  of  his  rider  or  driver.  I  do  not  suppose 
he  treated  himself  quite  so  heroically  as  the  literal  interpre- 
tation of  his  rule  would  imply;  but  it  furnished  a  good  il- 
lustration of  his  habitual  heartiness  and  thoroughness,  and  of 
an  indisposition,  and  perhaps  an  actual  incapacity,  for  adapt- 
ing himself  to  the  timorousnesses  and  petty  weaknesses  of 
others. 

"  No  account  of  my  brother's  vacations  can  pretend  to  com- 
pleteness which  does  not  refer  to  his  fishing,  which  chiefly 
occupied  him  at  such  times,  and  gave  the  largest  zest  and  ut- 
most restfuluess  to  his  home  visits.     For  shooting  he  had  no 


44  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

relisli  whatever,  for  the  reason,  perhaps,  that  it  did  not  allow 
that  quiet  enjoyment  of  nature  he  so  much  loved,  and  fur- 
nished too  little  employment  for  the  imagination.  Fishing, 
with  him,  was  not  lounging,  nor  a  piece  of  shabby  work,  but 
involved  early  rising,  a  rigorous  and  exact  preparation,  a 
ready  invention,  and  almost  always  a  decisive  victory.  The 
whole  region  round  about  our  early  home  was  thoroughly 
explored.  The  finest  birch-rods  it  could  furnish  were  sought, 
carefully  peeled,  and  put  under  shelter  to  season,  and  with 
such  appliances  as  to  insure  the  utmost  lightness  and  pliancy 
consistent  with  strength.  And  if,  in  the  height  of  the  sport, 
any  unforeseen  emergency  arose,  it  was  surprising  to  see  with 
what  readiness  and  coolness  his  invention  supplied  the  condi- 
tions of  success.  Never  but  once  have  I  known  him  to  utter- 
ly fail  in  the  sport  he  so  thoroughly  loved,  and  dexterously 
practised,  and  the  occasion  has  been  to  me  quite  as  memora- 
ble as  any  other.  Though  our  bait  was  of  the  best,  yet,  for 
some  unexplained  reason,  we  toiled  the  whole  morning  and 
caught  nothing.  I^ot  even  the  smallest  fish  would  take  the 
hook.  At  first  we  were  amused  at  our  non-success.  One  of 
the  party,  I  dare  say,  soon  became  querulous  and  impatient ; 
but  the  big  brother  worked  on  silently,  with  a  look  at  first 
puzzled,  tlien  anxious  and  solemn.  At  length,  as  the  hot  sun 
reached  the  meridian,  he  turned  our  boat  towards  the  shore, 
and,  without  a  word,  but  with  long,  vigorous  strokes  full  of 
meaning,  he  drew  it  under  the  shade  of  trees  overhanging  the 
most  beautiful  spot,  I  thought,  I  had  ever  seen.  Sitting  in 
this  cool  shade,  and  obviously  drinking  in,  with  keenest  relish, 
the  beauty  of  the  scene,  the  puzzled,  solemn  look  gave  place 
to  one  of  the  most  positive  and  satisfying  pleasure.  After  a 
time,  he  began  slowly  unrolling  our  lunch,  and  setting  it  forth 
in  most  tempting  arraj^,  before  an  appetite  which  needed  no 
special  incentive.  Still  he  could  not  relish  food,  but  began 
breaking  it  up,  and  throwing  it  into  the  water  by  the  boat's 
side.  At  length  he  said,  with  the  air  of  an  old  prophet, 
'  Cast  thy  bread  upon  the  waters,  for  thou  shalt  find  it  after 
many  days.'  Then,  as  if  awaking  from  a  revery  to  the  sus- 
picion of  having  made  a  false  impression,  he  said, '  It  is  plain 


AT  YALE   COLLEGE.  45 

we  shall  not  get  one  fish  to-day ' — for  not  one  had  appeared, 
in  response  to  this  last  invitation — '  and  I  don't  propose  to 
keep  this  up  for  many  days.  The  Bible  is  not  meant  to  en- 
courage a  blind  faith.  "  Cast  thy  bread  on  the  waters,"  is 
superstition.  Put  grain,  life-bearing  grain,  the  material  of 
bread,  for  bread  itself,  and  the  meaning  is  good.  Casting 
grain  on  the  overflowed  land  is  sensible,  an  act  of  faith  which 
despises  present  appearances,  and  it  shall  eventually  have  its 
reward.  But  fishing  to-day  is  but  casting  our  hread  on  the 
waters,  a  superstition  to  be  shunned.'  " 

The  following  bright  story  is  from  the  pen  of  his  classmate 
N.  P.  Willis.  It  was  published  in  the  Home  Journal,  in  IS-iS, 
in  connection  with  a  notice  of  Dr.  Bushnell's  discourse,  just 
delivered  at  Cambridge,  before  a  Unitarian  audience : — 

"  Seniors  and  classmates  at  Yale,  in  1827  we  occupied  the  third  story 
back,  North  College,  North  Entry— Bushnell  in  the  northwest  corner. 
As  a  student,  our  classmate  and  neighbor  was  a  black-haired,  earnest- 
eyed,  sturdy,  carelessly  dressed,  athletic,  and  independent  good  fellow, 
popular,  in  spite  of  being  both  blunt  and  exemplary.  We  have  seen  him 
blit  once  since  those  days,  and  then  we  chanced  to  meet  him  on  the 
Rhine,  in  the  year  1845,  we  think — both  of  us  voyagers  for  health.  But 
to  our  story.  The  chapel  bell  was  ringing  us  to  prayers  one  summer 
morning ;  and  Bushnell,  on  his  punctual  way,  chanced  to  look  in  at  the 
opposite  door,  where  we  were — with  the  longitudinal,  straight  come-and- 
go  which  we  thought  the  philosophy  of  it — strapping  our  razor.  (The 
beard  was  then  a  new  customer  of  ours.)  The  pending  shave  was  not  to 
release  us  in  time  for  more  than  the  tutor's  amen ;  but  that  was  not  the 
text  of  our  classmate's  sermon.  '  Why,  man,'  said  he,  rushing  in  and 
seizing  the  instrument  without  ceremony,  'is  that  the  way  you  strap  a 
razor?'  He  grasped  the  strap  in  his  other  hand,  and  we  have  remember- 
ed his  tone  and  manner  almost  three  hundred  and  sixty-five  times  a  year 
ever  since,  as  he  threw  out  his  two  elbows,  and  showed  us  how  it  should 
be  done.  '  By  drawing  it  from  heel  to  point  both  ways,'  said  he, '  thus— 
and  thus — you  make  the  two  cross  frictions  correct  each  other;'  and, 
dropping  the  razor  with  this  brief  lesson,  he  started  on  an  overtaking 
trot  to  the  chapel,  the  bell  having  stopped  ringing  as  he  scanned  the 
improved  edge  with  his  equally  sharp  gray  eye.  Now,  will  any  one 
deny  that  these  brief  and  excellent  directions  for  making  the  roughness 
of  opposite  sides  contribute  to  a  mutual  fine  edge  seem  to  have  been 
'the  tune'  of  the  Doctor's  sermon  to  the  Unitarians?  Our  first  hearing 
of  the  discourse  was  precisely  as  we  have  narrated  it,  and  we  thank  the 


46  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

Doctor  for  most  edifying  comfort  out  of  the  doctrine,  as  we  trust  his 
later  hearers  will  after  as  many  years." 

A  physical  experience,  which  Bushnell  described  in  later 
years  as  a  singular  one,  occurred  during  the  period  of  hard 
work  preparatory  to  his  graduation.  After  many  consecutive 
days  and  nights  of  hard  study,  he  went  to  bed  very  late  one 
night  towards  the  close  of  the  term,  exhausted,  but  wide 
awake.  After  a  few  moments  of  repose,  he  felt  as  if  his  body 
were  rising  and  floating  in  the  air.  Grasping  at  the  bed  be- 
neatli  him  to  reassure  himself,  he  M^as  startled  by  his  inability 
to  feel  it,  and  by  degrees  became  aware  that  sensation  was 
gone.  He  could  not  even  by  touch  or  feeling  convince  himself 
that  he  was  in  the  body  ;  and  still,  as  he  imagined,  rising  and 
floating  in  the  air,  he  began  to  believe  that  he  was  dead,  and 
that  tliis  was  his  voyage  to  the  world  of  spirits.  This  con- 
dition lasted,  according  to  his  impression,  for  the  space  of  an 
hour  or  two.  The  sense  of  touch  returned  by  degrees,  and 
his  body,  as  he  became  conscious  of  it,  was  numb.  Soon, 
however,  unpleasant  sensations  vanished,  and  he  fell  asleep. 
The  incident  is  slight,  and  yet  is  not  without  significance. 
His  mind  worked  in  a  very  intense  and  exciting  way,  and  the 
momentum  acquired  was  great  enough  to  send  him  over  the 
boundary  of  consciousness.  His  mental  poise  was  finely  ad- 
justed ;  but  for  that  very  reason,  perhaps,  the  more  easily 
disturbed.  In  later  years,  even  the  slight  fever  which  accom- 
panies a  cold  would  sometimes  set  his  mind  wandering.  To 
a  brain  which  worked  like  a  great  engine  under  high  press- 
ure, it  was  dangerous  to  add  more  fuel  of  any  kind. 

He  graduated  in  the  summer  of  1827.  His  commencement 
oration  (on  "  Some  Defects  of  Modern  Oratory")  attracted  at- 
tention outside  of  college,  and  was  spoken  of  as  a  promising 
one.  It  led  to  his  subsequent  engagement  on  the  Journal 
of  Commerce. 


TEACHING  IN  NORWICH.  47 


CHAPTER  IV. 

1827-1832. 

SCHOOL-TEACHING.— EDITORSHIP.— STUDY  OF  LAW.— TUTOR- 
SHIP.—LAW  STUDIES  AGAIN.— RENEWAL  OF  RELIGIOUS  LIFE. 
—THEOLOGICAL  SCHOOL. 

After  leaving  college,  he  went,  in  September,  to  Norwich, 
Conn.,  to  teach  a  school.  He  once  said  that  it  was  the  only 
undertaking  in  which  he  had  not  succeeded  better  than  he 
expected.  The  employment  was  uncongenial  to  him;  he  had 
no  special  fitness  for  it,  and  it  was,  besides,  only  a  temporary 
expedient,  not  a  pursuit  followed  for  its  own  sake.  A  friend 
writes  us  that  she  once  heard  him  say  that  "he  liked  to  do 
anything  better  than  to  teach  school  —  he  would  rather  lay 
stone-wall  anytime;"  and  that  when  some  one  asked  him  if 
he  did  not  once  teach  a  school  in  Norwich,  he  replied  at  once, 
"  I  ran  one  out  there  in  a  little  time."  She  adds  that  she  has 
heard  her  friends  there  speak  of  his  popularity  in  society,  and 
especially  of  his  love  for  music.  During  college  days,  he  had 
mingled  in  no  society  outside  the  college  walls ;  but  in  Nor- 
wich, for  the  first  time,  we  find  him  receiving  the  hospitalities 
of  refined  and  cultivated  homes.  In  his  letters  to  friends,  we 
meet  with  allusions  to  this  new  social  life,  which  show  his 
amusement  at  his  own  figure  in  it.  His  mother  writes  him 
gravely,  in  answer  to  some  joke  he  had  passed  on  himself  in 
a  home  letter :  "  In  your  next  letter  let  us  know  whether  you 
take  as  much  care  to  keep  jonr  heart  right  as  to  convert 
yourself  into  a  gentleman."  Few  letters  are  left  belonging 
to  this  period.  The  two  following,  written  to  a  classmate,  are 
given,  not  so  much  for  their  intrinsic  interest  as  because  they 
are  the  only  account  we  have  from  him  of  the  winter  in  Nor- 
wich : — 


48  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

To  Cortlandt  Van  Rensselaer. 

Norwich,  November  5, 1827. 

Deak  YAJf, — Your  present  *  came  to  hand  a  few  days  since. 
I  should  like  to  return  it  in  something  of  a  similar  kind ;  but 
this  part  of  the  country  does  not  abound  in  rare  productions 
of  a  literary  description.  I  shall  not  vex  myself,  however,  on 
this  account ;  but,  since  the  economists  have  established  the 
principle  that  it  matters  not  in  what  your  property  consists, 
provided  it  has  a  positive  value  or  utility,  rest  satisfied  with 
proffering  you  my  sincere  thanks  to  the  full  amount.  By  the 
way,  the  piece  reads  rather  better  than  I  expected.  It  is  at 
least  a  great  effc/rt.  You  have  probably  observed  the  manner 
in  which  he  ushers  in  his  second  poetical  quotation.  To  wind 
up  a  flowing  sentence,  comes  "  and,  ah !  who,"  etc.  What  a 
succession !  probably  intended  to  represent  the  panting  of  the 
aspirant,  who  runs,  as  you  may  have  seen  a  dog  run,  with  his 
mouth  wide  open.  It  had  the  effect  upon  me,  when  I  came 
to  it,  to  throw  my  jaws  wide  enough  asunder,  but  unfortu- 
nately it  was — a  gape.  All  this  I  should  not  have  mentioned, 
had  it  not  given  me  a  most  hearty  laugh  here  alone. 

If  you  wish  to  know  how  I  like  my  present  situation,  I  can 
tell  you,  in  a  few  words,  that  the  transition  from  the  literary 
ease  and  cheerfulness  of  college  to  the  petty  vexations  of  the 
pedagogue  is  rather  humiliating.  I  have  ceased  wondering 
that  Demos,  should  attack  yEschines  on  this  score.  Aside 
from  my  employment,  everything  goes  well  enough.  The 
Norwich  people  are  extremely  hospitable.  I  hardly  know 
whether  you  will  believe  me,  but  it  is  a  fact,  that  I  have  late- 
ly taken  —  now  and  then  —  to  visiting  the  ladies.  I  wish  I 
could  see  your  Honor  sometimes,  and  hold  a  real  South-entry 
talk  for  an  hour  or  two.  It  would  be  quite  as  entertaining  to 
me  as  fashionable  chit-chat.  It  would  seem  like  home  again. 
My  resource  at  present  is  in  books.  When  I  can  sit  down 
alone  in  my  room  and  spend  the  evening  in  reading,  time  goes 
very  pleasantly.     I  read  a  great  deal — write  a  little.     I  find 

*  A  copy  of  an  article  written  by  a  classmate. 


MENTAL  UNREST.  49 

myself  the  happier,  the  nearer  my  employments  to  those  of 
college.  I  have  borrowed  the  "  Spectator."  There  is  no  book 
ou  earth  so  complete  a  substitute  for  literary  conversation. 
He  is  sentimental,  learned,  grave,  witty,  humorous,  just  like 
my  old  companions.  In  whatever  mood  I  am,  I  can  find 
something  in  it  to  keep  me  company. 

To  the  Same. 

December  23, 1837. 

.  .  .  What  think  you  of  the  Presidential  election  ?  I  think 
there  is  'quite  too  much  iniquity  in  these  political  shuffles.  I 
was  quite  struck  the  other  day  by  a  remark  of  an  elderly  gen- 
tleman on  this  subject.  He  said  that  "  from  the  moment  of 
his  leaving  college  to  the  present  hour,  he  had  been  gradually 
losing  his  respect  for  great  names."  Eeal  merit  has  very  lit- 
tle to  do  with  political  elevation.  That  one  has  outstripped 
another  in  the  race  does  not  mean  that  he  is  more  worthy  of 
the  nation's  confidence,  but  that  he  has  been  more  successful 
in  his  schemes  of  ambition.  The  world  is  filled  with  conten- 
tion and  tumult,  not  to  determine  vjJiat,  but  toJw.  shall  govern. 
...  I  have  just  finished  the  life  of  Otis  by  Tudor.  He  was  a 
noble  fellow.  Van.  The  men  of  that  day  had  a  force  in  tread- 
ing dowm  this  hypocrisy,  this  double-dealing,  which  has  so  far 
got  the  better  of  their  posterity.  The  contest,  with  them, 
seems  not  to  have  been  for  place  or  power,  but  for  excellence. 
They  were  men  of  real  virtue ;  they  labored,  not  to  pull  down 
one  set  of  men  and  raise  another  in  its  stead,  but  to  pluck  Op- 
pression from  her  seat  and  set  up  Justice  in  her  place.  En- 
gaged in  such  a  cause,  it  is  not  wonderful  that  they  exhibited 
talents  superior  to  any  among  us ;  for  the  mind  that  is  backed 
by  righteous  principle  has  a  double  power  and  efficiency. 

The  second  quarter  of  my  school  commences  Thursday 
next.  I  think  it  doubtful  whether  I  continue  longer  than  to 
the  close  of  it,  if  I  get  released.  I  don't  make  a  very  good 
pedagogue,  I  fear,  though  I  have  heard  no  complaints.  It  re- 
quires too  much  patience  and  forbearance,  for  my  composi- 
tion. I  should  like  to  hear  from  Mac,  or  from  any  of  the  fel- 
lows who  feel  sufficient  interest  in  my  concerns  to  write  me. 


50  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

T  am  glad  to  hear  that  Yale  is  thriving  so  finely.     "  Incedat 
Regina." 

The  concerns  of  this  place  would  not  be  interesting  to  you. 
You  will  find  the  products  of  my  poor  brain,  I  fear,  but  little 
better. 

Yours  forever,  Hoeace  Busuxell. 

These  letters,  taken  in  their  connectimis,  betray  a  mental 
uneasiness,  restlessness,  and  discontent  unusual  to  him.  The}'- 
have  not  the  genuine  ring  of  his  later  letters,  and  we  may  con- 
clude from  them  and  other  indications  that  he  was  now  in 
precisely  that  mental  state  which  he  has  described  as  that  of 
a  large  class  of  young  thinkers.  "  Their  mind  is  ingenuous,  it 
may  be,  and  their  habit  is  not  over-speculative,  certainly  not 
perversely  speculative ;  they  only  have  a  great  many  thoughts, 
raising  a  great  many  questions,  that  fly,  as  it  were,  loosely 
across  their  mental  landscape,  and  leave  no  trace  of  their  pas- 
sage— that  is,  none  which  they  themselves  perceive ;  and  yet 
they  wake  up  by-and-by,  startled  by  the  discovery  that  they 
believe  nothing.  They  cannot  anywhere  put  down  their  foot 
and  say, '  Here  is  truth.'  And  it  is  the  greatest  mystery  to 
them  that  they  consciously  have  not  meant  to  escape  from 
the  truth,  but  have,  in  a  certain  sense,  been  feeling  after  it. 
They  have  not  l^een  ingenious  in  their  questions  and  argu- 
ments. They  have  despised  all  tricks  of  sophistry ;  they  have 
only  been  thinking  and  questioning,  as  it  seemed  to  be  quite 
right  they  should.  And  yet,  somehow,  it  is  now  become  as  if 
all  truth  were  gone  out,  and  night  and  nowhere  had  the  world. 
The  vacuity  is  painful,  and  they  are  turned  to  a  wrestling 
with  their  doubts,  which  is  only  the  more  painful  that  they 
wrestle,  as  it  were,  in  mid-air,  unable  to  so  much  as  touch 
ground  anywhere."  *  This  we  must  take  as  the  true  picture 
of  his  own  inward  life  for  a  period  of  several  years  preceding 
and  following  the  year  1827. 

Early  in  the  winter,  a  college  friend  had  written,  offering 
liim  a  letter  of  introduction  to  the  editor  of  the  Journal  of 

*  "  Sermons  ou  Living  Subjects,"  p.  167. 


EDITOR   OF   THE  JOURNAL   OF   COMMERCJE.  51 

Commerce,  a  newly  established  Kew  York  daily,  adding;  by 
way  of  explanation,  "  He  was  pleased  with  your  piece  at  Com- 
mencement, and  that  first  caused  him  to  think  your  assistance 
would  be  advantageous  to  him."  The  oifer  came  too  late ; 
the  engagement  for  the  winter  was  made,  and  Bushnell  could 
only  write,  in  answer,  "Your  offer  would  have  been  seized 
with  avidity  had  it  come  in  season.  As  it  was,  it  made  me 
wretchedly  discontented  for  a  few  days.  It  would  have  served 
me  better  had  it  offered  less,  though  I  am  as  grateful  for  it  as 
if  it  had  really  been  of  service."  And  so  the  winter  wore 
away,  uneasily  it  appears,  among  uncertainties  as  to  future 
prospects,  the  consciousness  of  latent  powers  not  half  em- 
ployed, inward  doubts  and  perplexities,  and  the  unsatisfied 
cravings  of  a  large  ambition.  But  in  February  the  opportu- 
nity which  had  seemed  lost  came  to  him  again.  Mr.  Maxwell 
wrote,  inviting  him  to  become  associate  editor  with  himself 
in  the  Journal  of  Commerce.  He  did  not  hesitate  in  his  de- 
cision, but  went  directly  home,  thence  across  the  country  to 
PoughkeejDsie,  and  down  the  Hudson  by  steamer  at  night. 
He  arrived  in  l^ew  York  on  the  last  morning  of  February — 
a  warm  fog,  through  which  the  city  loomed  dimly,  offering 
to  his  fancy  a  type  of  his  own  mental  obscurity,  and  of  the 
mistiness  of  his  prospects. 

He  entered  at  once  upon  his  new  duties.  Mr.  Maxwell  was 
the  leading  editor ;  but,  his  health  failing,  he  was  obliged  to 
be  absent  most  of  the  year,  so  that  the  weight  of  responsibil- 
ity and  work  which  fell  upon  the  junior  editor  was  a  heavy 
one.  Lewis  Tappau  was  one  of  the  proprietors  of  the  paper, 
and  represented  the  rest  in  the  management  as  ofhce  editor ; 
but  practically  the  charge  of  the  office  was  left  to  Bushnell. 
Mr.  Tappan  allowed  his  young  subordinate  entire  liberty  in  the 
expression  of  his  own  opinions,  even  upon  points  where  they 
differed,  as,  notably,  in  the  matter  of  free-trade  ;  and  their  re- 
lations in  the  office,  where  they  were  closely  associated,  were  of 
the  pleasantest  kind.  The  manly  force  and  generosity  of  Mr. 
Tappan  were  such  qualities  as  Bushnell  was  sure  to  appreciate. 

Journalism  was  not  an  easier  profession  then  than  now. 
The  difficulty  of  obtaining  news  in  those  days  of  no-telegraph 


52  .  LIFE   OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

M'as  mncli  greater.  The  foreign  news  was  brought  by  pilot- 
boats  to  the  Narrows,  where  a  mounted  messenger  received  it 
and  brought  it  post-liaste  to  the  city.  It  was  Bushnell's  duty 
to  prepare  it  for  tlie  morning's  issue;  and  this  work  often  kept 
him  up  all  niglit,  or  until  four  or  five  in  the  morning.  He 
would  then  rush  to  his  lodgings,  to  catch  a  nap  before  the 
eight-o'clock  breakfast,  and  back  straightway  to  the  office  and 
the  writing  of  editorials.  These  editorials,  on  a  wide  range 
of  subjects,  and  especially  on  free-trade,  attracted  attention, 
and  were  considered  brilliant  in  the  journalism  of  the  day. 
He  had  the  quick  eye  for  a  telling  point  so  invaluable  to  a 
newspaj^er  man.  It  was  owing  to  an  article  of  his  that  the 
saying  of  Sam  Patch,  "  Some  things  can  be  done  as  well  as 
others,"  was  caught  up  and  became  famous. 

In  this  work,  which  was  also  the  best  of  education,  he  was 
busy  for  ten  months,  or  up  to  the  1st  of  January,  1829. 
The  paper  was  then  bought  by  Mr.  Hale,  who  proposed  to 
him  to  become  a  partner  in  it,  and  its  political  and  literary 
editor.  But  he  had  found  it,  he  said, "  a  terrible  life,"  in  which 
he  did  not  wish  to  invest  his  future.  He  therefore  withdrew, 
and  returned  to  New  Haven  to  enter  the  Law  School,  having 
saved  from  his  salary  of  one  hundred  dollars  per  month 
enough  to  support  him  till  the  following  autumn.  He  had 
come  to  the  city  a  student,  ignorant  of  life.  He  went  back 
to  the  quiet  college  life  with  a  man's  knowledge  of  men  and 
business,  his  pulses  quickened,  his  range  of  vision  widened, 
the  objects  of  life  and  ambition  standing  clear  and  j^ositive 
before  him. 

The  following  summer,  having  spent  a  half-year  in  the  Law 
School,  he  went  home  again  to  say  farewell.  His  plans  were 
made  to  go  to  some  Western  city,  there  to  enter  a  law  office  and 
work  his  way  into  the  arena  of  politics.  He  was  twenty-seven 
years  old,  had  tested  his  powers,  and  gained  some  knowledge 
of  public  life  in  his  newspaper  experience,  and  now  felt  that 
he  had  chosen  his  course  in  life  on  well-considered  grounds.  It 
was  not  strange,  then,  that,  receiving,  while  at  home,  an  invita- 
tion to  become  a  tutor  in  Yale  College,  he  gave  the  matter  no 
very  serious  consideration,  but  wrote  declining  the  proposal. 


TUTOR  IN  YALE  COLLEGE.  53 

The  reader  lias  already  beard  from  him  how  his  mother's 
gentle  influence,  interi^osed  at  this  point,  led  him  to  delay  and 
finally  to  reconsider  his  decision.  The  letter  he  had  been 
about  to  send  was  destroyed,  and  another  of  acceptance  writ- 
ten. Thus  was  his  life,  unconsciously  to  him,  swayed  by  the 
faith  hidden  in  his  mother's  heart.  She  knew  him  better 
than  he  knew  himself,  and  turned  him  to  the  higher  purpose 
he  did  not  recognize. 

The  autumn  of  1829  finds  him  once  more  in  Isew  Haven, 
and  this  time  as  a  tutor.  Two  of  his  former  classmates  and 
intimates,  Henry  Durant  (afterwards  founder  of  the  College 
of  California)  and  Eobert  McEwen,  divided  with  him  the 
charge  of  the  freshman  class,  which  happened  to  be  a  large 
one.  The  first  care  of  Bushnell  was  to  weed  out  of  the  class 
a  few  incorrigibly  bad  boys,  whose  influence  was  sure  to  be  in- 
jurious to  the  rest.  They  were  sent  home,  and  the  favorable 
effect  on  the  remainder  of  the  class  seemed  to  justify  the  meas- 
ure. He  could  be  gentle,  however,  in  his  dealings  with  young 
offenders.  One  evening  some  of  the  freshmen,  in  a  boyish 
escapade,  carried  off  a  large  number  of  business  signs,  which 
they  secreted  in  one  of  their  rooms  on  the  lower  floor  of  the 
South  College.  Bushnell,  passing  through  the  campus  short- 
ly after,  found  one  of  these  young  fellows,  overtaken  of  Bac- 
chus, prostrate  and  unable  to  reach  his  room.  The  tutor  car- 
ried him  thither,  and  found  the  room  lined  with  the  stolen 
signs.  But  he  took  good  care  of  him,  and,  mercifully  regard- 
ing this  as  a  first  offence,  made  no  report  of  the  affair.  Thus 
meting  justice  and  mercy,  he  made  his  whole  term  of  service 
run  smoothly  and  successfully. 

One  of  his  most  difiicult  duties  was  that  of  conducting  in 
his  turn  the  daily  prayers  in  chapel.  His  own  faith  was  so 
undefined  as  to  make  him  feel  doubtful  of  his  influence  over 
others,  and  of  his  duty  in  using  it.  During  his  tutorship  he 
was  also  in  the  Law  School,  improving  the  unexpected  oppor- 
tunity of  further  training  in  his  chosen  profession. 

For  a  more  complete  account  of  this  period  we  refer  to  an 
interesting  letter  from  Dr.  McEwen,  addressed  to  Mrs.  Bush- 
nell : 


54  LIFE   OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

"...  In  the  two  years  of  our  co-tutorsliip  there  were  but  a 
few  marked  facts.  As  to  the  questions  you  raise,  my  impressions 
are  quite  distinct.  He  was  more  than  ordinarily  successful  as 
a  teacher  in  college,  imparting  the  same  manly,  enthusiastic 
spirit  of  inquiry  and  investigation  so  characteristic  of  him- 
self. On  this  account  he  was  well  fitted  to  be  an  instructor 
of  young  men  rather  than  of  mere  schoolboys.  He  was  just 
one  of  those  tutors  of  w^hom  it  might  be  said  as  to  his  division 
of  students  that  they  literally  '  sat  at  his  feet.'  His  general 
influence  corresponded  to  this  particular  cast  of  character  as 
an  ofiicer  of  college.  Though  negatively  religious,  his  moral 
bearing  was  most  positively  of  the  highest  order.  His  purity 
and  integrity  were  felt  to  be  impregnable,  and  he  was  remark- 
able as  combining  a  sternness  of  discipline  with  a  certain  gen- 
erosity of  procedure  in  practical  cases.  There  was  strength 
in  all  he  did,  and  a  force  of  influence  that  came  of  the  rug- 
gedness  of  his  intellectual  and  physical  deportment ;  for  it  is 
to  be  borne  in  mind  that  he  was  then,  as  he  had  ever  been, 
one  of  our  athletes  both  as  a  student  and  in  ofiice.  His  posi- 
tion mentally,  from  the  first  day  I  knew  him,  was,  in  its  chief 
features  of  strength  and  beauty,  the  same,  essentially  and  in 
general  development,  that  has  so  marked  his  after-life.  It 
seems  to  me  that  his  style  of  conception  and  exj)ression  as  a 
writer  was  already  stamped,  in  his  freshman  year,  with  the 
image  and  superscrijDtion  of  his  latest  day.  As  a  man^  indeed, 
he  came  to  college  all  made,  and  in  no  respect  more  decided- 
ly than  as  a  thinker  and  writer.  There  was  in  him  then  just 
what  made  him  so  unique  as  Horace  Bushnell,  that  imagina- 
tive, poetic  coinage  of  idea  and  phrase  and  illustration  so  un- 
usually blended  with  a  rugged  argumentation  in  the  treatment 
of  subjects.  He  was  at  once  the  most  j)iignacious  and  the 
most  gleesorae  of  disputants,  culling  flow^ers  while  he  hurled 
stones  and  demolished  obstacles  in  his  upward  path ;  for  he 
was  always  climbing  and  in  the  steepest  places.  You  ask  for 
some  distinct  impression  of  mine  in  regard  to  his  manner  in 
public  prayers  in  those  years  of  ofiicial  duty.  Of  course,  he 
took  his  turn.  His  performance,  as  I  remember  it,  was  not 
free-hearted,  neither  w\as  it  dry.     It  must  have  been  exceed- 


HIS  COURSE  DURING  A  RELIGIOUS  REVIVAL.  55 

ingly  trying  to  liis  feelings ;  as,  indeed,  all  those  years  of  his 
peculiar  position  as  a  jirofessedly  religious  man,  from  his  en- 
trance into  college,  must  have  been  a  conflict  and  a  crucifix- 
ion. How  his  sense  of  obligation  and  character  endured  the 
strain  is  to  me  a  problem  and  a  wonder;  for  he  never  the 
whole  time  had  any  positive  relations  in  anything  he  said  or 
did  to  what  was  distinctively  Christian,  yet  never  a  lisp  escaped 
him  derogatory  to  his  high  profession.  "Was  that  period  with 
him  like  some  prehistoric,  geologic  stage  of  nature  to  a  com- 
mon winter  of  the  yearly  seasons,  a  deeper,  longer,  more  rad- 
ical preparation  for  the  hour  of  habitableness  and  fruitful- 
ness  ?  Why  not  in  the  soul's  cosmogony,  as  in  the  dull  earth, 
a  long,  slow  chaos,  sometimes  of  grace,  too,  and  not  of  nature 
only  ?" 

The  labors  of  the  tutor  and  those  of  preparation  for  the  bar 
went  on  thus  for  a  year  and  a  half  hand  in  hand.  In  the 
winter  of  1831  his  two  years  of  law  study  were  completed. 
He  had  passed  his  examination,  and  was  ready  for  admission 
to  the  bar.  One  more  step  forward,  and  he  would  have  fair- 
ly entered  npon  that  path  which  he  had  marked  out  for  him- 
self. But  at  this  point  nnlooked-for  influences  changed  all 
his  plans  and  purposes. 

The  winter  was  marked  in  Yale  College  by  a  religious  re- 
vival. For  the  external  history  of  this  revival,  so  far  as  it 
concerned  Horace  Bushnell,  we  are  once  more  indebted  to 
Dr.  McEwen. 

"...  What,  then,  in  this  great  revival  was  this  man  to  do, 
and  what  was  to  become  of  him  ?  Here  he  was  in  the  glow 
of  his  ambition  for  the  future,  tasting  keenly  of  a  new  success 
— his  flne  passage  at  arms  in  tlie  editorial  chair  of  a  New  York 
daily,  ready  to  be  admitted  to  the  bar,  successful  and  popular 
as  a  college  instructor ;  but  all  at  sea  in  doubt,  and  default 
religiously.  That  baptism  of  the  Holy  Ghost  and  of  flre  com- 
passed him  all  about.  When  the  work  was  at  its  height,  he 
and  his  division  of  students,  who  fairly  worshipped  him,  stood 
unmoved  apparently  when  all  beside  were  in  a  glow.  The 
band  of  tutors  had  established  a  daily  meeting  of  their  own, 
and  all  were  now  united  in  it  but  Bushnell.     What  days  of 

5 


56  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

travail  and  wondering  those  were  over  Lim!  Kone  dare  ap- 
proach him.  He  stood  far  more  than  joWmws  inter  ]jare8 
among  alL  Only  Henry  Diirant  tried  carefully  and  cautious- 
ly to  hit  some  joint  in  the  armor.  But  even  he,  though  free 
in  his  confidence,  seemed  to  make  no  advance.  When,  all  at 
once,  the  advance  came  bodily  and  voluntarily  from  Bushnell 
himself.  Said  he  to  Durant,  'I  must  get  out  of  this  woe. 
Here  am  I  what  I  am,  and  these  young  men  hanging  to  me 
in  their  indifference  amidst  tliis  universal  earnestness  on  every 
side.'  And  we  were  told  what  he  said  he  was  going  to  do — 
to  invite  these  young  men  to  meet  him  some  evening  in  the 
week,  M'hen  he  would  lay  bare  his  position  and  their  own,  and 
declare  to  them  his  determination  and  the  decision  they  ought 
with  him  to  make  for  themselves.  Perhaps  there  never  was 
pride  more  lofty  laid  doAvn  voluntarily  in  the  dust  than  when 
Horace  Bushnell  thus  met  those  worshippers  of  his.  The  re- 
sult was  overwhelming.  Tliat  division-room  was  a  Bochim, 
a  place  of  weeping. 

"When,  then,  he  came  at  once  into  the  confidences  of  the 
daily  meeting  of  his  fellow-tutors,  was  it  not  Paul  that  was 
called  Saul,  and  was  there  ever  such  a  little  child  as  he  was  ? 
On  one  occasion  he  came  in,  and,  throwing  himself  with  an 
air  of  abandonment  into  a  seat,  and  thrusting  both  hands 
through  his  black,  bushy  hair,  cried  out  desperately,  3'et  half- 
laughingly, '  O  men  !  what  shall  I  do  with  these  arrant  doubts 
I  have  been  nursing  for  years  ?  When  the  preacher  touches 
the  Trinity  and  when  logic  shatters  it  all  to  pieces,  I  am  all  at 
the  four  winds.  But  I  am  glad  I  have  a  heart  as  well  as  a 
head.  My  heart  wants  the  Father ;  my  heart  wants  the  Son ; 
my  heart  wants  the  Holy  Ghost — and  one  just  as  much  as 
the  other.  My  heart  says  the  Bible  has  a  Trinity  for  me,  and 
I  mean  to  hold  by  my  heart.  I  am  glad  a  man  can  do  it 
when  there  is  no  other  mooring,  and  so  I  answer  my  own 
question  —  what  shall  I  do?  But  that  is  all  I  can  do  yet.' 
These  incidents,  I  may  say,  have  held  me  for  my  dear  friend 
Bushnell  w^hen  his  day  of  question  in  other  minds  came ;  and 
I  understood,  in  that  last  incident  or  germinal  fact,  his  Christ 
in  Theology." 


EECOLLECTIONS  OF  COLLEGE  FUIENDS.  57 

Another  of  his  college  friends  has  said,  "  As  might  be  ex- 
pected, Buslmell  threw  all  his  manhood  into  his  new  life. 
He  labored  at  once  to  bring  his  pupils  into  the  same  purposes 
with  himself.  I  remember  well  how  patiently  he  reasoned, 
and  how  affectionately  he  pleaded,  with  one  of  the  most  gift- 
ed young  men  I  ever  knew,  who  had  been  as  bold  in  his 
doubts,  and  more  bold  in  his  denials  than  himself,  and  withal 
grossly  wicked  in  his  life." 

One  who  was  then  a  pupil  of  Bushnell's  wrote  lately  to  his 
sister,  knowing  that  she  would  share  his  interest  in  this  sub- 
ject, "  I  cannot  but  think  of  him  now  as  he  seemed  to  me 
when  I  was  permitted  to  sit  at  his  feet  as  a  learner.  He  was 
a  very  handsome  man,  classical  and  sharp-cut  in  his  features, 
of  superior  dignity,  and  yet  winsome  in  his  manners.  JS'ext 
to  old  President  Day,  perhaps  he  enjoyed  more  popularity 
than  any  officer  in  the  college.  He  also  had  a  high  reputa- 
tion as  a  writer.  He  was  a  man  of  great  independence  of 
character  and  thought,  as  I  remember  him  ;  and  in  1831,  W'hen 
the  whole  college  came  under  the  power  of  truth  in  a  signal 
manner,  he  shot  clear  beyond  his  doubts  about  the  truth  of 
Christianity,  if  he  had  any,  and  came  with  a  bound  into  clear 
sunlight,  and  with  a  noble  Christian  manhood  took  his  place 
with  Christ.  His  history  from  that  day  rose  in  grandeur  and 
development  mitil  it  culminated  in  glory," 

Such  was  the  outward  story  of  the  most  important  crisis 
in  his  life.  If  we  study  its  points,  we  find  him  not  carried 
away  by  the  superficial  excitement  of  a  revival,  but  moved 
rather  by  the  sense  of  his  own  aloofness,  and  by  the  great  re- 
sponsibility for  others  which  his  influence  over  his  pupils  had 
given  him.  Beginning  at  the  plain  stand-point  of  conscience 
and  duty,  to  which,  in  darkest  hours  of  doubt,  he  had  ever 
stood  faithful,  he  asks  himself  this  test  question  (which  he 
afterwards  gave  to  others  as  a  guide),  "  Have  I  ever  consented 
to  be,  and  am  I  really  now,  in  the  right,  as  in  principle  and 
supreme  law ;  to  live  for  it ;  to  make  any  sacrifice  it  will  cost 
me ;  to  believe  everything  that  it  will  bring  me  to  see ;  to  be 
a  confessor  of  Christ  as  soon  as  it  appears  to  be  enjoined  upon 
me ;  to  go  on  a  mission  to  the  world's  end  if  due  conviction 


58  LIFE   OF   HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

sends  me ;  to  change  my  occupation  for  good  conscience'  sake ; 
to  repair  whatever  wrong  1  have  done  to  another ;  to  be  hum- 
bled, if  I  should,  before  mj  worst  enemy  ;  to  do  complete  jus- 
tice to  God,  and,  if  I  could,  to  all  worlds — in  a  word,  to  be 
in  wholly  right  intent,  and  have  no  mind  but  this  forever  f' 
This,  the  simple  desire  to  be  and  do  right,  was  the  first  step. 
By  the  side  of  the  moral  question  intellectual  doubts  appeared 
nnimportant,  and  were  deferred.  He  afterwards  used  the  his- 
tory of  tliis  experience  as  an  illustration  in  a  sermon  "  On  the 
Dissolving  of  Doubts,"  which  was  first  delivered  in  Yale  Col- 
lege Chapel : — 

"  Suppose  that  one  of  us,  clear  of  all  the  vices,  having  a  naturally  ac- 
tive-minded, inquiring  habit,  occupied  largely  with  thoughts  of  religion; 
never  meaning  to  get  away  from  the  truth,  but,  as  he  thinks,  to  find 
it,  only  resolved  to  have  a  free  mind,  and  not  allow  himself  to  be  car- 
ried by  force  or  fear,  or  anything  but  real  conviction — suppose  that  such 
a  one,  going  on  thus,  year  by  year,  reading,  questioning,  hearing  all  the 
while  the  Gospel  in  which  he  has  been  educated,  sometimes  impressed 
by  it,  but  relapsing  shortly  into  greater  doubt  than  before,  finds  his  relig- 
ious beliefs  wearing  out  and  vanishing,  he  knows  not  how,  till,  finally, 
he  seems  to  really  believe  nothing.  He  has  not  meant  to  be  an  atheist ; 
but  he  is  astonished  to  find  that  he  has  nearly  lost  the  conviction  of  God, 
and  cannot,  if  he  would,  say  with  any  emphasis  of  conviction  that  God 
exists.  The  world  looks  blank,  and  he  feels  that  existence  is  getting 
blank  also  to  itself.  This  heavy  charge  of  his  possibly  immortal  being 
oppresses  him,  and  he  asks  again  and  again,  'What  shall  I  do  with  it?' 
His  hunger  is  complete,  and  his  soul  turns  every  way  for  bread.  His 
friends  do  not  satisfy  him.  His  walks  drag  heavily.  His  suns  do  not 
rise,  but  only  climb.  A  kind  of  leaden  aspect  overhangs  the  world.  Till, 
finally,  pacing  his  chamber  some  day,  there  comes  up  suddenly  the  ques- 
tion, '  Is  there,  then,  no  truth  that  I  do  believe  ?  Yes,  there  is  this  one, 
now  that  I  think  of  it :  there  is  a  distinction  of  right  and  wrong  that  I 
never  doubted,  and  I  sec  not  how  I  can;  I  am  even  quite  sure  of  it.' 
Then  forthwith  starts  up  the  question,  'Have  I,  then,  ever  taken  the 
principle  of  right  for  my  law  ?  I  have  done  right  things  as  men  speak ; 
have  I  ever  thrown  my  life  out  on  the  principle  to  become  all  it  requires 
of  me?  No,  I  have  not,  consciously  I  have  not.  Ah !  then,  here  is  some- 
thing for  me  to  do  !  No  matter  Avhat  becomes  of  my  questions — nothing 
ought  to  become  of  them  if  I  cannot  take  a  first  princijjle  so  inevitably 
true,  and  live  in  it.'  The  very  suggestion  seems  to  be  a  kind  of  revela- 
tion ;  it  is  even  a  relief  to  feel  the  conviction  it  brings.  '  Here,  then,'  he 
says, '  will  I  begin.     If  there  is  a  God,  as  I  rather  hope  there  is,  and  very 


DISSOLVING  OF  DOUBTS.  59 

dimly  believe,  he  is  a  right  God.  If  I  have  lost  him  in  wrong,  perhaps  I 
shall  find  him  in  right.  Will  he  not  help  me,  or,  perchance,  even  be  dis- 
covered to  me  ?'  Now  the  decisive  moment  is  come.  He  drops  on  his 
knees,  and  there  he  prays  to  the  dim  God,  dimly  felt,  confessing  the  dim- 
ness for  honesty's  sake,  and  asking  for  help  that  he  may  begin  a  right 
life.  He  bows  himself  on  it  as  he  prays,  choosing  it  to  be  henceforth 
his  unalterable,  eternal  endeavor. 

"  It  is  an  awfully  dark  prayer,  in  the  look  of  it ;  but  the  truest  and  best 
he  can  make,  the  better  and  the  more  true  that  he  puts  no  orthodox  col- 
ors on  it ;  and  the  prayer'and  the  vow  are  so  profoundly  meant  that  his 
soul  is  borne  up  into  God's  help,  as  it  were,  by  some  unseen  chariot,  and 
permitted  to  see  the  opening  of  heaven  even  sooner  than  he  oj)ens  his 
eyes.  He  rises,  and  it  is  as  he  if  had  gotten  wings.  The  whole  sky  is 
luminous  about  him.  It  is  the  morning,  as  it  were,  of  a  new  eternity. 
After  this  all  troublesome  doubt  of  God's  reality  is  gone,  for  he  has  found 
him !     A  being  so  profoundly  felt  must  inevitably  be. 

"  Now,  this  conversion,  calling  it  by  that  name,  as  we  properly  should, 
may  seem,  in  the  apprehension  of  some,  to  be  a  conversion /o;-  the  Gos- 
pel, and  not  in  it  or  ht/  it — a  conversion  by  the  want  of  truth  more  than 
by  the  power  of  truth.  But  that  will  be  a  judgment  more  superficial- 
than  the  facts  permit.  No,  it  is  exactly  this :  it  is  seeking  first  the  king- 
dom of  God  and  his  righteousness — exactly  that,  and  nothing  less.  And 
the  dimly  groping  cry  for  hell),  what  is  that  but  a  feeling  after  God,  if, 
haply,  it  may  find  him,  and  actually  finding  him  not  far  ofi"?  And  what 
is  the  help  obtained  Ijut  exactly  the  true  Christ-help  ?  And  the  result, 
what,  also,  is  that  but  the  kingdom  of  God  witliiu,  righteousness  and 
peace  and  joy  in  the  Holy  Ghost  ? 

"  There  is  a  story  lodged  in  the  little  bedroom  of  one  of  these  dormi- 
tories, which  I  pray  God  his  recording  angel  may  note,  allowing  it  never 
to  be  lost." 

However  irregular  the  forms  of  this  conversion  according 
to  some  theological  standards,  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  its 
reality  as  a  conversion  in  the  original  sense  of  that  word.  It 
was  a  complete  turning  -  about  of  the  life.  It  changed  not 
only  the  outward  purpose  (for  he  gave  up  the  law  for  the 
Gospel),  but  the  very  fibre  and  tissue  of  his  being.  No,  it  did 
not  change,  but,  rather,  breathed  into  his  moral  frame  the 
breath  of  an  immortal  life  and  vigor,  vitalized  and  inspired 
his  intellect,  gave  luminous  insight  in  place  of  "  desolating 
doubts,"  and  set  him  free.  The  effect  was  not  to  neutralize, 
but  to  heighten,  his  individuality.  If  he  was  before  Horace 
Bushnell,  he  was  doubly  Bushnell  now.     No  salient  point,  no 


60  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

rugged,  racy  trait,  was  lost.     He  seemed,  indeed,  now  first  to 
have  found  himself. 

It  is  true  that  all  this  was  not  realized  at  once.  It  grew 
with  the  natural  growth  of  years.  The  doubts  were  not  yet 
all  gone.  The  whole  history  of  these  struggling  years  cannot 
be  better  rendered  than  in  these  words  of  Tennyson,  loved  for 
their  very  familiarity  : — 

"  Peri)Iext  iu  faith,  but  pure  in  deeds, 
At  last  lie  beat  Lis  music  out. 
There  lives  more  faith  iu  honest  doubt. 
Believe  me,  than  in  half  the  creeds. 

"  He  fought  his  doubts  and  gathered  strength, 
He  would  not  make  his  judgment  blind. 
He  faced  the  spectres  of  the  mind 
And  laid  them  :  thus  lie  came  at  length 

"  To  find  a  stronger  faith  his  own  ; 

And  Power  was  with  him  in  the  night 
Which  makes  the  darkness  and  the  light, 
And  dwells  not  in  the  light  alone." 

His  manner  of  dealing  with  mental  questions,  as  he  de- 
scribes it,  seems  the  most  sincere  and  reasonable  one  possi- 
ble :— 

"  Never  be  in  a  hurry  to  believe  ;  never  try  to  conquer  doubts  against 
time.  Time  is  one  of  the  grand  elements  in  thought  as  truly  as  in  mo- 
tion. If  you  cannot  open  a  doubt  to-day,  keep  it  till  to-morrow;  do  not 
be  afraid  to  keep  it  for  whole  years.  One  of  the  greatest  talents  in  re- 
ligious discovery  is  the  finding  how  to  hang  up  questions,  and  let  them 
hang,  without  being  at  all  anxious  about  them.  Turn  a  free  glance  on 
them  now  and  then  as  they  hang  ;  move  freely  about  them,  and  see  them 
first  on  one  side  and  then  on  another,  and  by-and-by,  wlien  you  turn  some 
corner  of  thought,  you  will  be  delighted  and  astonished  to  see  how  quiet- 
ly and  easily  they  open  their  secret  and  let  you  in.  What  seemed  per- 
fectly insoluble  will  clear  itself  in  a  wondrous  revelation.  It  will  not 
hurt  you,  nor  hurt  the  truth,  if  you  should  have  some  few  questions  left 
to  be  carried  on  with  you  when  you  go  hence,  for  in  that  more  luminous 
state,  most  likely,  they  will  soon  be  cleared,  only  a  thousand  others  will 
be  springing  up  even  there,  and  you  will  go  on  dissolving  still  your  new 
sets  of  questions,  and  growing  mightier  and  more  deep-seeing  for  eternal 
ages." 


FAREWELL  ADDRESS  TO  HIS  PUPILS.  Gl 

The  law  studies  completed  in  the  winter  did  not  culminate 
in  his  admission  to  the  bar.  That  profession  had  been  ex- 
changed for  the  ministry.  AYe  are  tempted  to  imagine  what 
a  different  man  he  would  have  become  as  a  Western  lawyer 
and  politician.  IIow  much  of  the  fineness  and  poetry  and 
spiritual  insight  would  have  been  lost !  And,  on  the  other 
hand,  we  may  learn  from  his  public  addresses  what  a  power 
he  would  have  wielded  in  matters  of  national  importance,  and 
how  fearlessly  he  would  have  supported  the  right  cause. 

In  the  summer  of  1831,  the  duties  of  the  tutor  were  laid 
aside,  and  he  bade  farewell  to  his  pupils  in  a  short  address. 
He  gratefully  acknowledged  their  kindness  which  had  freed 
his  position  from  its  inherent  perplexities,  and  which  made 
him  as  regretful  to  leave  his  station  as  he  had  been  reluctant 
to  enter  upon  it.  He  urged  them  to  seek  a  culture  not  only 
of  the  intellect,  but  of  good  habits,  good  manners  and  prin- 
ciples, and  to  include  among  the  objects  of  their  ambition 
not  only  the  honor  of  men,  but  their  affection  and  their  confi- 
dence. He  advised  them  that  it  is  an  error  for  a  man  to  re- 
tard his  advancement  in  life  by  a  jealousy  that  others  do  not 
think  well  of  him.  "  I  acknowledge,"  he  says,  "  the  difficulty 
of  ascertaining  one's  true  valuation,  but  I  believe  no  safer  rule 
than  this  can  be  given,  to  take  the  good  opinion  of  others  for 
granted  till  we  see  reasons  to  the  contrary.  It  is  folly  to 
think  of  succeeding  in  life  without  some  pretensions.  A  man 
must  begin  to  hold  up  his  own  head,  or  no  one  will  see  it  to 
be  worth  the  pains." 

Recommending  industry  as  more  necessary  to  advancement 
in  life  than  genius,  he  says,  "  If  I  were  required  to  define  gen- 
ius, I  should  call  it  the  faculty  of  mental  application.  Some 
minds  seem,  from  a  very  early  age,  to  have  a  strong  adhesive- 
ness to  whatever  comes  in  contact  with  them.  "When  a  sub- 
ject enters  the  thoughts,  it  is  followed  for  hours,  or  perhaps 
for  days,  with  patient,  laborious  meditation.  In  the  mean- 
time, everything  else  is  excluded,  and  the  mind  is  left  to  toil 
on  in  perfect  abstraction.  In  this  way  they  come  to  an  aston- 
ishing maturity  without  much  assistance  from  books.  Now 
these  are  the  ethereal  souls  who  are  so  often  described  as  rea- 


62  LIFE   OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

soning  without  reflection,  and  embracing  everything  great  by 
a  constitutional  energy.  Why,  these  men  study  more  in  their 
dreams  than  others  by  their  midnight  lamps."  In  conclusion, 
he  offers  "  two  rules  which  ought  to  govern  every  man.  The 
first  is  to  be  perfectly  honest  in  forming  all  your  opinions  and 
principles  of  action.  It  is  one  thing  to  take  a  position  and 
use  your  reason  to  defend  it,  and  quite  a  different  thing  to 
use  your  reason  in  selecting  a  position.  In  one  case,  reason 
obeys  the  will ;  and  in  the  other  the  will  obeys  the  reason. 
The  other  rule  which  I  would  have  you  observe  is  this,  never 
to  swerve  in  conduct  from  your  honest  convictions.  Decide 
because  you  see  reasons  for  decision ;  and  then  act  because 
you  have  decided.  Let  your  actions  follow  the  guidance  of 
your  judgment ;  and  if  between  them  both  you  go  down  the 
falls  of  ]Sriagara,  go !  it  is  the  only  course  worthy  of  a  man." 

In  the  autumn  he  entered  the  Theological  School  at  'New 
Haven,  of  which  Dr.  Taylor  was  the  head.  It  was  looked 
upon  at  that  time  as  the  school  of  progress  in  religious 
thought,  and  even  regarded  by  some  with  suspicion  for  that 
reason.  Bushnell  found  there  a  healthful  and  invigorating 
mental  atmosphere,  in  which  he  felt  at  home ;  but  his  rebell- 
ious intellect  soon  asserted  its  independence  of  methods  of 
thought  which  appeared  to  him  mechanical,  and  this  fact 
made  him  an  inconvenient  member  of  so  small  a  school.  One 
of  the  instructors  once  said  of  him,  when  questioned  as  to 
Bushneirs  opinions,  that  he  was  "  t'other  side."  A  friend 
said  of  him,  at  another  time,  that  '•  he  abhorred  all  shams  and 
conventional  phrases  in  argument  because  he  believed  so 
strongly  in  realities."  Shams  apart  (for  they  were  not  in 
cpiestion  here),  he  doubtless  fought  with  superfluous  ardor 
against  the  formulas  and  conventional  doctrinal  phrases  with 
which  his  way  was  strewn,  and  carried  the  boldness  of  his  dis- 
sent a  little  farther  than  was  needful  or  comfortable.  Eever- 
ence  for  human  authority  was  doubtless  lacking  in  his  compo- 
sition, and  the  want  of  it  might  have  been  serious  had  not  his 
spiritual  instincts  supplied  a  deeper  reverence  on  which  faith 
could  build.  But  dissent  was  never  with  him  a  negative 
attitude.  '  Ilis  ingenious  mind  had  its  own  fresh  provision 


ESSAYS  IN  PHILOSOPHY.  63 

for  every  emergency,  its  own  ready  siibstirnte  of  suggestive 
thought  to  lill  the  phicc  of  every  rejected  formula.  If  he 
found  the  old  path  long  and  intricate,  it  was  no  trouble  for 
him  to  hew  out  a  new  and  short  cut  through  the  woods.  lie 
delighted  fo  see  rickety  bridges  fall  to  pieces,  not  because  he 
was  destructive,  but  because  he  was  a  builder.  It  was  at  this 
time  that  he  first  addressed  himself  exclusively  to  the  study 
of  mental  and  moral  science,  and  its  chief  value  to  him  seems 
to  have  consisted  in  its  rejection.  And  if  this  sounds  like  a 
paradox,  his  own  words  will  explain.  In  an  article  written  in 
May,  1832,  he  analyzes  and  compares  the  methods  of  natural 
and  of  moral  philosophy,  endeavoring  to  show  that  the  sys- 
tematized science  which  is  possible  and  even  necessary  to  the 
former  is  improper  and  impossible  in  the  latter.  "  We  may," 
he  says,  "systematize  in  Nature,  because  Nature  is  a  system, 
because  everything  there  fulfils  its  end,  and  therefore  acts  in 
accordance  with  its  fitness  to  that  end;  but  we  cannot  sys- 
tematize in  morals,  because  a  great  share  of  the  acts  of  men 
are  in  contradiction  of  those  properties  in  their  constitution 
which  fit  them  to  the  end  proposed  by  their  existence ;  be- 
cause they  are  the  proper  expressions  only  of  a  frustrating 
power,  a  power  as  effectual  in  dislocating  system  as  in  defeat- 
ing ends.  Why,  then,  attempt  to  reconcile  in  philosophy,  when 
there  is  war  in  facts  ?  Why  attempt  to  reduce  to  the  harmo- 
ny of  the  sjDheres  the  actions  and  the  being  of  man,  when,  if 
the  spheres  had  sinned  as  man  has,  that  harmony  had  been 
unheard  even  in  the  dreams  of  Pythn»goras.  .  .  .  Though  mat- 
ter is  inert  and  powerless,  never  truly  acting,  but  only  acted 
with  or  upon  ;  though  mind,  on  the  other  hand,  is  agency  it- 
self, power  acting  of  itself  and  revealing  its  motions  through 
physical  symbols ;  .  .  .  notwithstanding  these  and  many  other 
grounds  of  distinction,  the  common  philosophy,  in  fact,  re- 
duces the  spiritual  and  the  material  creation  to  the  same  dead 
level,  leaving  God  the  only  real  agent  in  the  universe.  It 
may  be  briefly  characterized  as  a  soulless,  matter-born  philos- 
ophy of  mind,  having  all  the  vices  of  paradox  without  the 
strangeness.  Assuming  the  prerogatives  of  a  universal  liqui- 
dator, it,  in  fact,  gives  no  proper  solution  of  anything.     In  re- 


04  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

ligion,  it  is  seen  to  be  absolutely  impotent ;  it  does  not  even 
discover  in  man  tlie  proper  elements  of  a  religious  being;  re- 
garding all  liis  actions  as  the  successive  products  of  a  system- 
atic mechanism,  it  sees  in  man  no  heavenward  tendency,  no 
yearning  of  his  nature  after  God  and  goodness."  Proceeding 
then  to  illustrate  the  greater  freedom  of  a  philosoj^hy  which 
regards  man,  when  sinning,  as  departing  from  and  not  acting 
according  to  his  nature,  he  sums  up  thus  :  "  AVhen  man,  aided 
by  some  snch  imperfect  view  or  hint  as  is  here  given,  rises  to 
a  steady  contemplation  of  the  spiritual,  he  feels  himself  to  be 
no  longer  a  clod,  but  a  particle  of  the  divine  nature.  In  the 
very  workings  of  sin,  he  feels  the  imperishable  within  him, 
and  knows  that  he  shall  never  die.  God  he  now  feels  to  be 
the  home  of  his  spirit.  Eeligion  elevates  itself  to  a  divine 
and  heavenly  reality ;  why  God  should  care  for  him  as  a  Fa- 
ther he  now  understands  ;  the  high  mystery  of  redemption 
lias  an  intelligible  meaning,  and  he  wonders  no  longer  that 
the  blessed  angels  should  be  looking  after  him  with  such  a 
fellow -kindness.  And  now,  it  may  be,  prayer  is  become 
philosophy." 

Of  course,  in  the  above  brief  summary,  we  have  only  the 
results,  without  the  steps  of  the  argument,  and  we  have  pur- 
posely chosen  for  quotation  those  passages  where  feeling  had 
w^armed  his  pen  to  something  of  its  maturer  eloquence  rather 
than  those  which  are  strictly  logical.  But  here  we  find  him 
at  the  point  of  departure  from  all  humanly  framed  philosophy. 
It  has  been  truly  said  that  he  had  not  a  philosophy.  At  this 
early  time,  amidst  the  fresh  fascinations  of  metaphysical  study, 
he  employed  his  newly  trained  logic  to  prove  that  he  needed 
neither  logic  nor  philosophy.  And  though,  when  glancing  over 
this  manuscript  at  a  later  time,  when  his  thought  had  matured, 
he  pencilled  upon  it  these  words, "  Boy's  work.  Much  of  it  false, 
though  a  truth  lies  hereabout,"  yet  he  added  in  a  bolder  hand, 
and  perhaps  at  a  later  date,  "  This  article  shows  the  ferment 
out  of  which  my  IN^ature  and  Supernaturalism  grew  into  shape 
thirty  years  after."  In  like  manner  he  noted  upon  another 
manuscript  written  in  the  same  year,  "  Having  no  sermon 
written,  I  read  this  boy's  argument  before  the  association,  on 


CONTINUITY  AND   GROWTH  OF  THOUGHT.  Go 

my  examination  for  a  license  to  preach."  But  this  same  boy's 
argument  was  an  attempt  to  prove  the  existence  of  a  moral 
Governor  of  tlie  universe  in  a  fresh  way,  not  from  the  evi- 
dences of  design  in  the  created  world,  but  from  an  ingenious 
use  of  his  own  theory  of  the  origin  of  language.  It  is,  per- 
haps, not  best  to  unfold  it  in  its  crude  form  here,  as  we  shall 
have  occasion  further  on  to  quote  freely  from  his  writings  on 
this  theme.  But  it  is  interesting  to  tind  two  leading  ideas 
which  became,  as  time  went  on  and  thought  and  experience 
ripened,  central  and  all-important,  crystallizing  thus  early  in 
his  mind,  and  there  forming  nuclei.  In  these  two  essays  writ- 
ten in  the  Theological  School,  we  find  the  germs  of  two  of  his 
best  books,  written  fifteen  and  thirty  years  later.  It  was  char- 
acteristic of  his  use  of  his  mind,  rapid  and  intuitive  as  it  was 
in  its  workings,  that  he  let  things  f/row  there.  It  was  not  the 
growth  of  a  hot-bed  or  a  forcing-house,  but  of  nature  out  of 
doors,  with  its  times  and  seasons, — a  healthy  and  deliberate 
growth. 

It  had  been  his  intention  to  leave  Kew  Haven  finally 
at  the  time  of  receiving  his  license.  But  a  new  interest 
kept  him  there  yet  longer.  At  the  beginning  of  the  sum- 
mer he  had  consented,  for  the  short  time  left  him,  to  take 
charge  of  a  Bible-class  of  ladies  in  one  of  the  churches.  The 
deep  seriousness  and  devout  spirit  of  his  words  at  the  prayer 
meetings  connected  with  the  class  were  as  impressive  as  the 
freshness  of  his  treatment  of  Bible  themes.  Though  he  had 
been  for  so  many  years  a  resident  of  New  Haven,  he  knew 
nothing  of  its  society.  He  came,  therefore,  as  a  stranger  to 
this  class  of  ladies,  except  as  he  had  received  from  others  a 
knowledge  of  their  names  and  certain  impressions  of  their 
personalities.  "  This  introduction  on  a  bright  June  Sunday 
in  church,  and  over  the  Bible,  was  the  fitting  commencement 
of  an  acquaintance  that  ripened  into  the  union  of  two  lives 
bound  together  by  the  closest  sympathy  in  Cliristian  truth 
and  works,  and  by  a  faith  which  transfigured  a  mortal  into  an 
immortal  love."  Attracted  by  this  new  friendship,  he  came 
back  to  New  Haven  in  the  autumn,  and  stayed  through  the 
winter,  occupied  in  writing  sermons  and  preaching  occasion- 


66  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

ally.     His  first  sermon,  from  the  text  "  Why  will  ye  die  ?" 
had  been  delivered  in  New  Preston  in  August. 

In  February,  1833,  he  went  to  his  friend,  the  Kev.  Mr.-Gris- 
wold,  of  AVatertown,  for  the  benefit  of  his  criticism  and  in- 
struction in  elocution.    He  preached  one  morning  in  Mr.  Gris- 
wokVs  pulpit  on  the  subject  "  Heaven  a  Continuance  of  the 
Earthly  Christian  Life."  '  The  sermon,  we  are  told,  was  full 
of  glowing  imagery,  and  was  delivered  with  great  earnestness. 
EeachingMr.  Griswold's  home  after  the  service,  the  young 
preacher  threw  himself  into  a  chair,  crying,  "Now,  Brother 
Griswold,  for  the  rubber."    The  reply  was,  "  It  is,  as  a  sermon, 
far  above  my  criticism,  and  that  is  the  point  of  my  criticism. 
You  have  shot  over  their  heads."    Quick  flashed  the  rejoinder, 
"  Would  you  have  me  shin  'em  V^     The  joke  did  not  mean 
indifference  to  the  criticism,  however ;  for  when  one  of  his 
hearers  also  told  him  that  few  had  understood  him,— that  he 
had  been,  in  fact,  quite  out  of  their  sight,— he  was  much  cast 
down,  and  wrote,  "  I  confess  this  disturbed  me  somewhat.     I 
determined,  if  possible,  to  dishonor  my  Master  no  longer.     I 
accordingly  took  a  new  subject,  and  have  written  three  quar- 
ters of  another  sermon.    I  have  struggled  hard  to  make  it  sim- 
ple and  intelligible,  and,  in  so  doing,  have  made  it  nothing. 
There  is  only  one  thought  in  it.     I  feel  a  little  disheartened, 
and  quite  discouraged."     It  must  have  been  the  same  sermon 
which  shot  over  the  heads  of  the  Watertown  hearers  that  he 
afterwards  delivered  in  one  of  the  New  Haven  churches. 
The  idea  unfolded  in  it,  that  the  occupations  of  earth  will  be 
carried  on  into  another  life,  was  talked  over,  when  church  was 
out,  by  a  knot  of  hearers.     One,  a  manufacturer  of  tomb- 
stones, condemned  the  notion  as  fantastic  and  disagreeable, 
when  another  retorted  that  Brother had  the  best  of  rea- 
sons for  not  believing  that  it  would  be  verified  in  his  own 
case.     More  noteworthy  was  the  comment  of  a  distinguished 
clergyman  who  had  listened  to  the  sermon,  that  "  there  was 
more  where  that  came  from." 

He  was  thus  occupied  in  experimental  preparation  for  his 
work  when  the  call  came.  It  was  in  February  that  he  re- 
ceived from  the  North  Church  in  Hartford  an  invitation  tem- 
porarily to  supply  their  pulpit. 


ENGAGEMENT  IN  HARTFORD.  67 


CHAPTER  Y. 

1833-1837. 

SETTLEMENT  IN  HARTFORD.  — MARRIAGE.— DUTIES  AND  DIF- 
FICULTIES.—PREACHING.— THE  SUBJECT  OF  SLAVERY.- THE 
SUBJECT  OF   REVIVALS. 

He  went  to  meet  the  engagement  in  Hartford  with  many 
misgivings  as  to  his  quahfications,  and  even  oppressed,  as  he 
wrote,  b}^  a  sense  of  his  own  unfitness  for  the  work.  At  the 
same  time,  it  was  some  relief  to  him  that  the  mental  clouds 
were  lifting  and  his  own  faith  becoming  clearer.  In  a  letter 
he  said,  "My  sermon  'IIow  Shall  we  Escape  if  we  Neglect 
so  Great  Salvation  V  I  preached  here  last  Sunday,  I  think  with 
good  effect.  The  attempt  I  made  to  show  why  this  is  a  great 
salvation  was  certainly  a  good  thing  for  myself."  On  the 
twentieth  anniversary  of  his  settlement  in  Hartford,  he  re- 
viewed the  history  of  his  ministry  in  a  sermon  in  wdiich 
we  find  this  account  of  his  arrival  and  of  his  own  mental 
stand-point : — 

"  I  was  licensed  to  preach  the  Gospel  only  a  few  months  previous  to 
my  settlement  among  you.  I  had  preached  but  a  few  times  elsewhere, 
nowhere  with  any  thought  or  expectation  of  settlement;  though  I  be- 
lieve I  had  been  looked  at  and  i^assed  by  as  not  being  sufficiently  prom- 
ising in  one  or  two  other  places.  I  received  a  letter  in  February,  1833, 
inviting  me  to  come  and  preach,  for  a  time,  to  this  congregation ;  of 
which  I  knew  nothing,  save  that  you  had  recently  parted  with  your  jias- 
tor.  I  arrived  here  late  in  the  afternoon,  in  a  furious  snow-storm,  after 
floundering  all  day  in  the  heavy  drifts  the  storm  was  raising  among  the 
hills  between  here  and  Litchfield.  I  went,  as  invited,  directly  to  the 
house  of  tlie  chairman  of  the  committee  ;  but  I  had  scarcely  warmed  me, 
and  not  at  all  relieved  the  hunger  of  my  fast,  when  he  came  in  and  told 
me  that  arrangements  had  been  made  for  me  with  one  of  the  fathers  of 
the  church,  and  immediately  sent  me  off  with  my  baggage  to  the  quar- 
ters assigned.     Of  course,  I  had  no  complaint  to  make,  though  the  fire 


68  LIFE   OF  HORACE   BUSIINELL. 

seemed  very  inviting  and  the  house  attractive ;  but  when  I  came  to  know 
the  hospitality  of  my  friend,  as  I  had  abundant  opportunity  of  knowing 
it  afterwards,  it  became  somewliat  of  a  mystery  to  me  that  I  should  have 
been  despatclied  in  this  rather  summary  fashion.  But  it  came  out,  three 
or  four  years  after,  that,  as  there  were  two  parties  strongly  marked  in  the 
church,  an  Old  and  a  New  School  party,  as  related  to  the  New  Haven  con- 
troversy, the  committee  had  made  up  their  mind,  very  prudently,  that  it 
would  not  do  for  me  to  stay  even  for  an  hour  with  the  New-school  broth- 
er of  the  committee ;  and  for  this  reason  they  had  made  interest  with  the 
elder  brother  referred  to,  because  he  was  a  man  of  the  school  simjily  of 
Jesus  Christ.  And  here,  under  cover  of  his  good  hospitality,  which  I 
hope  he  has  never  found  reason  to  regret  (extended  by  him  and  received 
by  me  in  equal  simplicity),  I  was  put  in  hospital  and  kept  away  from 
the  infected  districts  j^reparatory  to  a  settlement  in  the  North  Church  of 
Hartford.  I  mention  this  fact  to  show  the  very  delicate  condition  pre- 
pared for  the  young  pastor,  who  is  to  be  thus  daintily  inserted  between 
an  acid  and  an  alkali,  having  it  for  his  task  both  to  keep  them  apart 
and  to  save  himself  from  being  bitten  of  one  or  devoured  by  the  other. 

"  But  this  was  to  be  my  place.  I  received  a  unanimous  call  of  tlie 
l^eoplc,  and  took  it  as  a  call  from  God,  though  I  had  then  a  much  dim- 
mer faith  in  the  validity  of  such  a  call  than  I  have  at  present. 

"  When  I  look  back  now  on  the  place  and  the  occupant,  I  am  scarcely 
able  to  recognize  either  the  one  or  the  other,  so  great  is  the  change  ac- 
complished in  both.  I  had  many  and  great  difficulties  on  my  hands,  in 
respect  to  the  Gospel  truths,  which  are  now  gone.  In  the  list  of  my  qual- 
iiications  at  that  time  for  a  preacher  of  Christ,  I  discover  nothing  which 
moves  my  respect  but  the  very  small  mustard-seed  of  Christian  experi- 
ence I  seem  to  have  had,  together  with  a  certain  honesty  of  determi- 
nation to  find,  if  possible,  the  truth ;  to  violate  the  integrity  of  my  un- 
derstanding by  no  forced  assent  to  received  dogmas ;  to  be  warped  by 
no  fear  of  man,  hurried  by  no  impatience;  never  to  go  in  advance  of 
my  convictions ;  and,  if  possible,  never  to  fall  behind  them.  In  these 
two  conditions  I  see,  indeed,  iDOssibilities  of  good;  but  how  slender  a 
furniture  for  the  work  actually  on  hand  !  I  was  coming  into  religion  on 
the  side  of  reason  or  philosophy,  and,  of  course,  had  small  concei^tion 
of  it  as  a  faith  and  a  supernatural  gift  to  the  race.  Now  it  is  a  faith  lu- 
minous, glorious,  vital,  and  clear,  and,  of  course,  it  is  as  little  of  a  philos- 
ophy. I  confess,  with  some  mortification,  so  deeji  was  I  in  the  beggarly 
elements  of  the  school,  that  I  did  not  really  expect  to  remain  in  the  min- 
istry long.  I  thought  if  I  could  sometime  be  called  to  a  professorship 
of  moral  ])hilosophy,  it  would  be  a  more  satisfactory  and  higher  field 
of  exertion.*     Now,  all  other  employments,  even  the  highest  and  most 

*  This  must  not  be  regarded  as  inconsistent  with  the  declarations  of 


EMBARRASSMENTS   OF   THE   NEW   ROSITION.  C9 

honorable,  aiipear  to  mo  petty  and  dry  compared  with  the  ministry  of 
Jesus  Christ,  and  it  seems  an  oflfeuce  to  be  rc2)ented  of  that  I  should  ever 
have  allowed  anything  else  to  come  into  comparison  with  this.  The 
great  truths,  the  greater  work,  the  sublime  lifting  of  the  consciousness 
therein  allied  to  God — to  be  called  away  from  these  to  a  professorship 
of  moral  philosophy  would  signify  about  as  much  to  me  now  as  a  call 
out  of  Paradise,  not  more." 

He  preached  for  six  weeks,  as  by  engagement,  finding  the 
new  circumstances  full  of  perplexity,  and  the  new  duties  on- 
erous. In  order  to  preach  thrice  on  the  Sunday  and  once  in 
the  course  of  the  week,  he  was  obliged  to  write  steadily,  as 
the  little  stock  of  sermons  he  had  brought  with  him  was  soon 
exhausted.  He  was  also  receiving  many  kind  hospitalities 
and  making  many  visits.  He  wrote  to  his  friend  in  New 
Haven,  waiting  anxiously  for  news  of  his  success,  "  The  press- 
ure of  writing  and  preaching  and  visiting,  subject  to  constant 
interruption,  and  all  this  seconded  by  the  nervous  agitation 
incident  to  a  new  place  and  a  new  business,  has  kept  me  con- 
tinually tossing,  and  almost  distracted  me." 

The  young  minister  of  those  days  w^as  required  to  "  toe  the 
mark  "  very  precisely ;  and  in  the  humorous  hint  at  the  delicate 
position  of  the  young  pastor,  "  daintily  inserted  between  an 
acid  and  an  alkali,"  there  is  a  slight  suggestion  of  that  wdiich 
had  a  formidable  as  well  as  a  comic  side.  The  churches  of 
ISTew  England  were  just  then  distracted  by  the  controversy 
between  the  Old  and  New  schools  of  theology ;  and,  as  if  this 
were  not  enough,  there  was  much  excitement,  also,  over  what 
were  known  as  "new  measures"  in  the  form  of  religious  ser- 
vices. In  the  North  Church  of  Hartford,  the  dividing  lines 
were  strongly  marked.  Even  the  two  leading  deacons  were 
opposed  to  each  other  on  every  point  in  dispute:  the  one 
progressive  in  measures  and  doctrine,  the  other  most  strictly 
conservative  in  everything ;  both,  however,  strong  and  good 
men,  who  tempered  their  differences  with  a  good  deal  of 
Christian   forbearance.     The   conservative   members   of  the 


the  last  chapter.     It  is  not  difficult  to  imagine  what  manner  of  profes- 
sor of  moral  philosophy  he  would  have  been. 


70  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

cliiircli  were  jealous  of  tlie  theology  of  the  New  Haven  school, 
from  which  Bnshnell  came,  and  the  duty  of  honesty  conflicted 
somewhat  with  the  dictates  of  prudence.  But  liis  choice  be- 
tween honesty  and  prudence  was  easily  made.  He  was  liked, 
in  spite  of  the  differences,  and,  at  the  close  of  his  engagement, 
received  from  the  people  a  unanimous  call  to  become  their 
pastor.  He  had  already  been  encouraged  by  indications  of 
success,  and  particularly  by  learning  that,  under  the  influence 
of  his  preaching,  one  young  man  had  been  led  to  enter  upon 
a  new  way  of  life.  After  a  deeply  interesting  talk  with  him, 
Bushnell  wrote, "  I  begin  to  feel  that  God  has  confided  to  me 
a  noble  work,  and,  with  his  aid,  I  shall  aim  to  follow  it  faith- 
fully." 

After  but  a  short  delay,  he  was  ordained  on  the  22d  of  May, 
1833.  His  father  and  mother  were  with  him  at  his  ordi- 
nation, their  hearts  overflowing  with  joy  at  this  fulfilment  of 
their  hopes.  It  was  the  sweet  fruit  of  long  years  of  sacrifice 
and  love  and  steadfast  faith.  The  following  description  of 
the  ordination  services  is  given  ns  by  Mrs,  Holley,  of  Lake- 
ville,  who  was  for  many  years  an  interested  hearer  of  his 
preaching : — 

"  I  remember  well  the  day  of  his  ordination ;  the  examina- 
tion of  the  candidate  was  a  scene  not  easily  forgotten.  The 
moderator,  old  Dr.  Nathan  Perkins,  put  the  questions  in  a 
grave  and  serious  tone.  The  replies  were  courteous  in  man- 
ner, and  direct  and  pointed  in  matter,  until  some  old-fash- 
ioned point  in  theology  was  started,  when  Mr.  Bushnell  re- 
plied with  an  abrupt  denial  of  knowing  anything  about  it, 
and  an  intimation  that  the  question  was  of  no  special  value 
to  any  one.  When  the  inquiry  was  made  '  AYhat  reason  have 
you  to  consider  yourself  a  Christian  V  his  voice  changed  at 
once,  and  his  reply  was  so  earnest  that  all  felt  this  was  no 
question  of  mere  theology.  In  the  stillness  that  hushed  the 
filled  lecture-room,  he  stated  the  difficulties  he  had  found  in 
the  acceptance  of  a  revealed  religion,  and  his  determination, 
at  last,  to  examine  these  truths  anew,  and  to  guide  his  future 
life  by  this  decision.  As  the  result  of  that  purpose  and  the 
faith  that  followed,  he  stood  before  them.     The  ordination 


SUNDAY  IN  NEW  PRESTON.  71 

proceeded;  and  to  the  first  sermon  preached  to  his  people 
many  careless  hearers  listened  earnestly  for  the  first  time. 
They  felt  that  this  Gospel  was  no  iitterance  of  platitudes, 
stale  by  repetition,  no  pleasant  singsong  of  old  words  and 
phrases,  but  that  a  master  in  Israel  had  come  to  them ;  and 
to  many  this  teaching  was  destined  to  be  the  power  of  God 
unto  salvation.  Dr.  Buslmell  has  alluded  in  one  of  his  print- 
ed sermons  to  the  'crudities'  of  his  first  religious  teachings. 
We  never  felt  this,  those  of  us  who  were  young,  even  if  any 
old  thinkers  and  theologians  thought  his  theological  views 
not  quite  systematized.  1  remember  the  admiration  I  felt 
for  one  who  could  think  and  speak  so  bravely,  and  yet,  when 
he  had  thought  more,  or  had  new  light  on  a  subject,  would 
just  as  bravely  and  fearlessly  take  back  his  first  assertion." 

The  church  had  desired  that  their  harmony  might  be  ce- 
mented by  an  immediate  settlement,  and  offered  him,  instead 
of  present  delay,  a  two  months'  vacation  at  the  close  of  the 
summer.  He  was  planning  for  the  autumn,  and  the  home  to 
be;  and,  in  addition  to  his  many  new  duties,  had  undertaken 
to  build  a  house,  for  which  he  made  the  plans  and  drew  the 
contracts  himself.  He  was  therefore  ready  for  the  vacation 
when  it  came,  and  went  back  to  his  old  home,  eager  for  its 
repose  and  the  quiet  beauty  of  the  old  scenes.  Once  more 
he  fished  on  the  lake  and  mused  on  his  new  calling  as  "  fisher 
of  men."  In  the  following  letter  we  have  his  account  of  a 
startling  scene  in  the  New  Preston  church  on  the  first  Sun- 
day of  his  stay,  and  while  he  w^as  preaching : — 

"  The  shower  was  rising  w'hen  we  entered  the  church  in  the  afternoon. 
Towards  the  close  of  the  prayer  it  began  to  rain  and  hail  together,  and 
the  storm  increased  in  violence,  so  that  when  I  began  my  sermon  I  could 
scarcely  be  heard,  and  it  was  so  dark  that  it  was  difficult  for  me  to  read. 
I  had  read  but  a  few  pages  before  a  tremendous  crash  burst  upon  the 
house.  An  awful  pause  succeeded;  then  the  audience  burst  out  in  cries 
of  terror,  and  began  to  rush  for  the  door,  for  the  smoke  in  different  parts 
of  the  house  gave  indications  of  fire.  For  my  own  part,  probably  because 
my  thoughts  were  engaged  in  something  else,  I  was  as  completely  self- 
possessed  as  I  am  now.  I  stood,  therefore,  and  cried  to  them  to  stop, 
for  I  perceived  that  there  was  more  danger  from  the  rushing  of  the  crowd 
than  from  anything  else.     The  movement  was  arrested;  some  began  to 

6 


^2  LIFE   OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

throw  up  the  windows,  as  many  were  stunned ;  one  man  was  carried  out 
lifeless,  but  began  to  recover  as  soon  as  they  were  able  to  get  water  to 
dash  upon  him.  My  brother's  wife  had  one  of  her  shoes  thrown  from  her 
foot,  and  her  stocking  torn,  and  several  escaped  as  narrowly.  In  the  gal- 
lery on  my  left  hand,  I  saw  as  many  as  twelve  or  fourteen  persons  rise  up 
wiio  had  been  dropped  by  the  shock.  I  found  that  the  lightning  passed 
down  the  rod,  and  thence,  in  difierent  directions, ploughed  up  the  ground 
for  twenty  or  thirty  feet,  killing  one  animal  and  prostrating  one  or  two 
more.  Inside  of  the  house,  it  passed  down  one  gallery  just  at  my  left 
hand,  and  down  another  most  distant  from  it  diagonally,  shivering  them 
both,  and  even  splitting  off  a  part  of  the  pew-door  near  one  of  them. 
The  whole  house,  I  may  say,  was  struck.  It  was  a  tremendous  charge, 
but  no  one  was  killed.  How  wonderful  this  escape  !  The  pulpit  is  in  a 
recess  under  the  steeple,  and  there  I  stood,  under  the  heaviest  of  the  bolt, 
as  safe  as  if  I  had  been  in  the  arms  of  God.  I  icas  there.  So  were  we 
all,  and  that  seemed  to  be  the  feeling  of  all.  After  tlie  shower  had 
passed,  the  audience  were  called  to  their  seats,  and,  after  a  few  words 
said,  by  way  of  restoring  tranquillity,  I  resumed  my  sermon,  ending  it 
with  an  extempore  appeal.  The  events  of  the  afternoon  made  that  thun- 
der-storm hymn  awfully  significant,  and  wdth  that  the  day  was  closed. 
God  has  saved  me  from  the  midst  of  danger,  and,  I  hope,  to  devote  me  to 
some  purpose  of  mercy  and  usefulness." 

On  the  13tli  of  September,  1833,  he  was  mamed,  in  Kew 
Haven,  to  Mary  Apthorp,  a  lineal  descendant,  on  her  mothers 
side,  of  John  Davenport,  the  first  minister,  and  first  colonist, 
of  New  Haven,  and  of  Judge  Abraham  Davenport,  whose 
name  and  strength  of  purpose  are  associated  with  the  "  Dark 
Day,"  famous  in  colonial  history.  Her  mother,  who  has  but 
lately  departed  at  the  age  of  ninety-five,  bore  the  strong  and 
elevated,  characteristics  of  her  Puritan  ancestry,  expressed  in 
her  person  by  a  simple  dignity  and  beauty  which  were  indi- 
vidual and  all  her  own.  The  marriage  of  Horace  Bushnell 
and  Mary  Apthorp  was  one  which  comprehended,  in  the 
thoughts  and  wishes  of  both,  the  highest  objects  and  pursuits 
of  the  future,  and  was  so  compacted  by  the  unity  of  their 
joint  purpose  as  to  reinforce  greatly  the  eiiectiveness  of  his 
work. 

After  a  few  weeks  spent  in  ]^ew  Preston,  they  came  to 
Hartford,  to  begin  their  life  among  a  people  always  hence- 
forth most  affectionate  and  beloved.  As  their  own  house  was 
not  yet  ready,  they  were  received,  for  a  time,  in  the  family  of 


NEW  DUTIES  AND  HOME.  73 

Daniel   Burgess,  who   had   ah-eady   shown   himself  a  warm 
friend.     Mrs.  Bushnell  says,  "  We  were  peculiarly  favored  in 
this  hospitality.     Everything  in  their  home  was  simple  and 
unambitious,  but  free  and  generous,  as  became  both  the  ample 
means  and  unworldly  character  of  the  hosts.     The  mistress  of 
the  household  filled  it  with  the  atmosphere  of  saintliness; 
love,  joy,  and  peace  shone  in  her  face  and  radiated  from  her 
person.     It  was  a  benediction  to  the  young  pair,  just  entering 
upon  their  sacred  calling,  to  rest  awhile  under  her  shadow,  and 
be  drawn  with  her  into  her  beatitudes.     That  blessing  fol- 
lowed us  all  the  way  through."     The  winter  was  spent  in 
constant  study.     The  writing  of  two  sermons  for  almost  ev- 
ery Sunday  occupied  him  the  wliole  week.     In  those  days  he 
wrote  slowly,  and  with  a  good  deal  of  labor.     The  work  that 
should  have  ceased  with  the  morning  was  too  often  carried  on 
through  the  day  and  into  the  evening  hours.     He  wished  also 
to  visit  and  become  well  acquainted  with  all  of  his  people,  and 
these  pastoral  duties  were  so  new  and  strange  to  his  student's 
habit  that  they  were  at  first  the  most  diffictilt  and  awkward 
part  of  his  work.     He  did  not  neglect  them,  however,  but 
made  a  point  of  visiting  every  one  in  the  congregation  at  least 
once  a  year,  and  more  frequently  among  familiar  friends,  or 
where  he  knew  that  he  was  needed.     He  acknowledged  this 
to  have  been  the  defective  branch  of  his  service,  and  that  for 
which  he  had  least  aptitude.     In  the  second  year  of  his  min- 
istry, we  find  him  expressing  dissatisfaction  with  himself,  and 
with  the  results  of  his  work,  and  resolving  "to  be  more  simple, 
to  aim  more  at  doing  good,  to  cultivate  a  more  worthy  interest 
in  the  souls  of  my  people,  to  pray  more,  to  be  more  abundant 
in  self-denials  and  labors,  and,  I  hope,  to  have  a  better  estimate 
of  my  duties,  and  a  more  cordial  love  for  them  even  in  their 
humblest  forms."     It  became  a  custom  with  him  and  Mrs. 
Bushnell  to  make  the  annual  visitation  together  in  the  pleas- 
ant days  of  autumn,  sometimes  walking,  or  sometimes  driving 
into  the  country  to  the  more  distant  homes.     "  Those  bright 
October  days,"  she  says,  "  still  spread  their  soft  haze  on  the 
background,  where  are  pictured  the  bright  faces  and  cheerful 
welcomes  that  have  lono;  ao'o  faded  from  earthly  recognition." 


74  LIFE   OF   HOBACE   BUSHNELL. 

In  December  their  house  was  finished,  and,  with  the  delight 
of  a  new  exjjerience,  thej  began  to  make  their  own  home. 
They  were  greatly  interested  in  contriving  to  make  skill  and 
taste  take  the  place  of  money ;  for  of  the  latter  they  had 
small  store.  The  salary  of  twelve  hundred  dollars,  though  an 
ample  one  for  plain  living  in  those  simple  times,  left  no  margin 
for  extravagances.  J^ever  to  be  in  debt  was  the  foundation 
principle  of  their  domestic  economy,  and  they  had  the  cour- 
age resolutely  to  adhere  to  this  principle  through  life.  It 
saved  a  great  deal  of  trouble  in  the  end.  The  Ann  Street 
house  was  a  simple,  square,  two-story  building,  with  a  small 
green  yard,  graced  by  a  noble  oak  in  the  rear.  In  the  spring, 
it  was  a  positive  pleasure  to  the  minister,  with  his  farming 
habits,  after  a  winter  in  the  study,  to  find  himself  out-of-doors 
digging  in  his  little  garden  or  grading  the  door-yard.  It  was, 
perhaps,  about  this  time  that  we  must  date  the  little  story  of  a 
friend  concerning  an  evening  spent  with  the  minister  and  his 
wife  in  their  own  home.  She  was  a  girl  of  fine  intelligence 
and  character,  but  not  at  that  time  religious.  When,  there- 
fore, she  was  invited  to  tea  by  Mrs.  Buslmell,  she  accepted 
with  considerable  misgivings  lest  the  evening  should  be  made 
the  occasion  of  such  exhortations  as  were  then  too  commonly 
the  only  subject  of  ministerial  intercourse  with  "  the  uncon- 
verted." To  her  great  relief,  however,  the  time  was  spent 
in  the  pleasantest  social  intercourse,  free  from  all  remarks  of 
a  personal  nature.  Mr.  Buslmell,  of  course,  saw  her  safely 
home  when  the  evening  was  over,  and,  as  the  night  was  one 
of  brilliant  starlight,  the  talk  on  the  way  was  naturally  of  as- 
tronomy, and  of  the  law-abiding  order  of  the  universe.  He 
spoke  eloquently  of  the  great  harmony  of  the  spheres,  and 
of  the  perfect  manner  in  which  each  little  star  fulfilled  its 
destiny  and  swung  in  the  divine  order  of  its  orbit.  "  Sarah," 
he  said,  turning  to  her  with  a  winning  smile,  "  I  want  to  see 
you  in  your  place."  No  other  word  turned  the  suggestion 
into  a  homily,  and  her  quick  intelligence  was  thrilled  and 
won  by  a  thought  which  seemed,  in  that  quiet  hour,  to  have 
dropped  upon  her  from  the  skies.  He  had  simply  let  the  oc- 
casion speak  its  own  thought. 


MOUNT  WASHINGTON.  75 

The  following  letters  from  Mount  Washington  are  among 
the  earliest  in  our  possession.  The  second  little  letter,  writ- 
ten upon  the  mountain-top,  was  pencilled  on  birch-bark,  and 
has  become  almost  illegible.  It  seems  that  at  this  early  date 
he  was  beginning  to  suffer  from  a  throat  trouble,  and  that  this 
journey  was  taken  for  health's  sake.  He  travelled  wath  Mr. 
A.  N.  Skinner,  of  l^ew  Haven,  and  some  ladies : — 

To  his  Wife. 

Carroll,  September  15,  1835. 
My  dearest  Maey, — Here  we  are  at  the  base  of  the  great 
everlasting  mountains.  We  arrived  here  at  noon  to-day,  in 
fine  spirits  and  eager  for  great  exploits.  We  set  off  this  af- 
ternoon in  two  old  one-horse  wagons  for  the  Notch,  wdiich  we 
passed,  and  descended  for  two  miles  to  the  place  where  the 
Willey  family  perished,  in  1826,  by  a  slide  in  the  mountains. 
I  shall  not  attempt  a  description  here.  I  will  only  say  that 
the  scene  is  awfully,  almost  terribly,  sublime.  It  seemed  to 
me  that  I  should  have  larger  thoughts  and  better  feelings  as 
long  as  I  live.  The  Washington,  the  monarch  of  all  these 
mountains,  is  now  before  us,  and  to-morrow  Mr.  Skinner  and 
I  will  try  to  put  it  under  our  feet.  The  ladies  have  W'isely 
given  up  the  thought.  To-day  the  top  of  Washington  has 
stood  all  day  enveloped  in  clouds  till  just  at  sunset,  when 
they  vanished,  and  left  its  bald  head  exposed  to  our  delighted 
vision.  Grand,  grand,  indeed  !  I  have  never  seen  anything 
like  it  before.  The  top,  for  at  least  a  mile,  is  now  covered 
with  snow,  which  makes  it  still  more  glorious  as  the  evening 
sun  gilds  it,  though  it  offers  us  but  a  cool  reception  to-mor- 
row. We  have  been  w^onderfully  fortunate  thus  far  in  every- 
thing. Our  drivers  have  been  careful,  kind,  and  respectful ; 
our  stopjDing-places  remarkable  for  neatness  and  every  kind 
attention.  I  never  saw  a  series  of  hotels  so  respectable.  Even 
here,  in  this  wild,  lone  region  of  forests,  are  two  great  hotels, 
the  only  houses  for  miles,  where  every  convenience  and  many 
luxuries  surround  the  guests.  Indeed,  I  have  had  nothing 
but  a  constant  series  of  good  breakfasts,  dinners,  and  suppers 
all  the  way,  which  I  have  received  w^ith  the  appetite  of  a  lion. 


76  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

I  was  never  so  conscious  of  recovering  elasticity  and  life. 
Every  step  something  glorious  opens  upon  ns  here,  which 
makes  me  regret  that  my  dear  Mary  cannot  look  upon  it  with 
me.  You  know  that  I  am  not  one  of  the  sight-seeing  animals ; 
but  here  it  is  not  things  that  interest  me,  but  God.  Surely 
I  see  God  as  I  never  did  before.  I  hope  the  dear  being,  who 
is  the  tie  made  visible  of  our  hearts,  lives  and  rejoices.  I 
write  this  after  the  others  are  gone  to  bed ;  and,  as  I  feel  that 
I  am  taking  cold,  I  must  cease.  I  wish  your  mother  could 
see  these  wonderful  scenes.  The  heart  of  a  true  son  could 
scarcely  wish  the  best  of  mothers  a  better  happiness  in  this  ^ 
world.     Kiss  the  dear  little  one ;  tell  her  that  I  love  her. 

Wednesday  Morning. — All  is  clear ;  not  a  cloud  to  be  seen ; 
so  that  if  we  can  endure  the  cold,  we  shall  most  certainly 
triumph.  We  are  wonderfully  favored.  There  has  not  been 
another  truly  clear  morning  since  we  started,  though  the 
weather  has  been  good  for  travelling  and  limited  scenery. 
IS'ow  that  the  boundless  opens,  the  sky  becomes  a  crystal. 

September  6,  Half-past  12  o'clock,  ) 
Top  of  Mount  Wasliingtou.        i 

I  write  you  from  the  top  of  this  glorious  throne  of  Nature 
on  a  piece  of  the  native  paper. 

We  have  had  a  fine  ascent.  The  top  is  covered  with  snow 
and  crystals  of  ice.  The  sky  is  clear — [one  line  is  here  erased 
by  time].  The  view  is  beyond  description.  I  look  away  to 
the  distant  sunny  South,  hill  beyond  hill,  and  my  heart  longs 
for  my  dear  wife.  If  my  feet  could  travel  as  fast  as  my  eye, 
how  soon  would  I  be  by  her  side  !  And  thou,  my  sweet  little 
one,  too !  Oh  that  I  could  hold  her  in  my  arms,  and  print  a 
kiss  on  her  fresh  lips !  How  sweet  are  the  feelings  of  a  hus- 
band and  a  father !  I  thank  thee,  O  God  of  the  mountains, 
for  all  thy  goodness  unto  me.  It  is  all  undeserved,  and  yet 
there  seems  to  be  almost  favoritism  in  it.  Farewell  till  we 
meet  again.  Your  husband,  H.  B. 

It  is  not  too  early  to  ask  what  Horace  Bushnell  was  show- 
ing himself  to  be  as  a  preacher.     He  was  at  this  time,  as  he 


EAllLY  SERMON -WRITING.  77 

himself  will  sliow  us  later,  "  passing  into  the  vein  of  compre- 
hensiveness ;"  and  it  became  one  of  his  first  studies  to  touch 
the  opposite  poles  of  truth  and  hold  them  in  their  nnity.  In 
this  respect  it  would  ])q  easy  to  draw  a  parallel  between  his 
preaching  and  that  of  Kobertson,  who  held  that  every  highest 
truth  is  found  in  the  union  of  two  opposing  truths.  Perhaps 
the  best  specimen  of  his*  early  sermon-writing  is  one  in  the 
volume  of  "  Sermons  for  the  New  Life,"  entitled  "  Duty  Xot 
Measured  by  Our  Own  Ability,"  which  was  written  in  tlie 
first  year  of  his  ministry.  Another  sermon,  written  in  1837, 
on  "  Living  to  God  in  Small  Things,"  appears  in  the  same 
volume,  and  has  been  thought,  by  many  readers,  to  be  one  of 
tlie  most  practically  efiicient  he  ever  wrote.  In  1835,  short- 
ly after  Garrison  was  lynched  in  the  streets  of  Boston,  and 
doubtless  keyed  by  that  event  to  a  high  pitch  of  feeling  con- 
cerning our  national  dangers  and  vices,  he  preached  a  sermon 
called  the  "  Crisis  of  the  Church,"  in  which  he  expressed  him- 
self boldly  and  earnestly  on  these  matters.  This  sermon,  pub- 
lished by  request,  was  tlie  first  in  which  he  appeared  in  print ; 
and  we  accordingly  find  his  copy  of  it  labelled  "  First-born 
child."  Mrs.  Biishnell  remembers  that  he  came  home  one 
day,  having  just,  for  the  first  time,  seen  the  pamphlet,  in- 
scribed with  his  name,  in  a  book-store  window,  and  actually 
feeling  abashed  by  such  publicity.  Turning  over  its  yellow 
leaves,  the  modern  reader  cannot  fail  to  be  struck  by  the 
clearness  and  force  with  which  he  grasped  and  stated  the 
national  position,  as  one  of  moral  power  and  influence  among 
the  nations  of  the  world,  as  then  at  a  formative  age,  and  also 
at  a  crisis  of  peculiar  danger. 

"We  stand,"  he  says,  "to  represent  certain  great  ideas  and 
principles,  the  success  and  validity  of  which,  among  other  na- 
tions, depend  in  a  chief  degree  upon  us.  .  .  .  We  are  not  more 
distinguished  in  representing  the  principle  of  self-government 
than  we  are  in  representing  the  Protestant  faith ;  or,  at  least, 
whatever  distinction  may  be  ours  in  the  former  light  is  due 
only  to  the  fact  that  Protestantism  and  Christianitj'  have  come 
to  their  head  in  us ;  and  here,  in  our  American  institutions, 
have  passed  out  for  the  first  time  to  make  experiment  of  their 


78  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSIINELL. 

virtue.  .  .  .  And  does  any  one  doubt  that  our  republicanism  is 
born  of  this  spirit?  Philosophically  it  must  have  been,  his- 
torically it  was.  Self-government  in  religion  passed  over,  by  a 
natural  and  necessary  consequence,  to  beget  self-government 
in  law ;  and  that  same  equality  which  was  held  in  the  Church 
of  God  extended  itself  to  the  civil  State.  Had  it  been  a  Eom- 
ish  emigration,  religion  itself  would  not  only  have  furnished 
it  with  tyrants,  but  with  a  due  submission  also.  Turn  your 
eye  southward,  and  see  what  it  would  liave  been  !  But  a  band 
of  Congregational  Protestants,  emigrating  to  this  New  World, 
neither  did  establish,  nor  could  have  established,  any  other 
than  a  popular  government.  ...  It  was  Protestantism  in  relig- 
ion producing  republicanism  in  government."  Going  on  from 
this  point  to  consider  the  age  as  a  formative  and  critical  one 
in  American  history,  he  says,  "  The  elements  of  life  and  death 
are  now  everj' where  in  the  nation,  and  somewhat  nearly  in  the 
same  proportions;  and  we  come  up,  as  it  were,  a  whole  nation 
together,  to  try  the  final  struggle  and  decide  what  we  shall 
be.  ,  .  .  And  just  at  this  crisis  it  is  that  we  are  beset  with  pe- 
culiar dangers.  I  name,  as  the  principal,  slavery,  infidelity, 
Romanism,  and  the  current  of  our  political  tendencies."  Of 
slavery  he  speaks  as  a  growing  evil,  begetting  stormy  and  im- 
perious passions,  and  teeming  with  the  rankest  jealousies.  "  Is 
it  not,"  he  asks,  "  too  sensitive  for  salutary  control,  and  ready 
on  all  occasions  to  sunder  or  revolt  at  the  slightest  imaginary 
grievance  ?  Such  should  not  be  the  temper  of  a  free  people. . . . 
Such  a  republicanism  is  rather  forced  than  natural.  It  has  its 
seat  in  the  will  ratlier  than  in  the  conscience ;  and  all  its 
moral  afiinities  from  the  first  have,  accordingly,  been  adverse, 
and  have  operated  to  depress  tliat  noble  virtue  which  gave 
birth  to  our  institutions.  It  had  a  more  natural  sympathy, 
and  would  have  coalesced  more  readily,  with  the  abortive  the- 
ories of  Fj"encli  liberty  than  with  that  spirit  which  caught  its 
fire  from  the  pure  altars  of  God  in  l^ew  England.  How  full 
of  excitement,  too,  is  this  unhappy  subject !  We  have  scarce- 
ly ceased  to  feel  how  the  pillars  of  the  nation  shook  when  it 
was  only  proposed  to  limit  the  extent  of  this  dire  evil.  And 
it  is  but  a  few  months  since  a  great  city  here  at  the  North 


VIGOR  OF  HIS  PREACHING.  79 

■was  involved  in  tumult  and  outrage  for  three  successive  days 
by  the  mere  discussion  of  the  subject.  The  wliole  material.of 
slavery,  all  the  moral  elements  which  it  supplies  to  our  insti- 
tutions, are  inflammable  and  violent.  At  almost  any  hour  it 
may  explode  the  foundations  of  the  republic."  He  also  speaks 
of  Eomanism,  and  of  the  great  facilities  it  has  for  advancing 
itself  when  considered  in  connection  with  our  elective  system. 
He  foresaw  what  a  tool  the  power  of  the  priests  was  to  be 
made  in  politics,  and  what  an  instrument  of  corruption  it 
would  become.  But  we  must  not  tarry  longer  over  this  in- 
teresting paper. 

His  preaching  had  in  those  days  a  fiery  quality,  an  urgency 
and  wilful  force,  which,  in  his  later  style,  is  still  felt  in  the 
more  subdued  glow  of  poetic  imagery.  There  was  a  nervous 
insistence  about  his  person,  and  a  peculiar  emphasizing  swing 
of  his  right  arm  from  the  shoulder,  which  no  one  who  has 
ever  heard  him  is  likely  to  forget.  It  seemed  as  if,  with-  this 
gesture,  he  swung  himself  into  his  subject,  and  would  fain 
carry  others  along  with  him.  His  sermons  were  always  writ- 
ten out  in  full  and  read ;  never  extemporized,  never  memor- 
ized. For  the  latter  method  and  its  results  he  had  no  liking. 
For  the  former,  not  suflicient  confidence ;  though  that  came 
to  him  later,  when  driven  to  extempore  work  by  ill-health. 
His  early  manner  betrayed  this  want  of  confidence,  and  was 
at  times  a  little  constrained  and  labored.  The  same  was  true 
of  his  prayers,  which  lacked  ease  and  flow,  such  as  came  to 
him  with  fuller  inspiration.  The  whole  effect  of  his  services 
was,  however,  always  pointed  and  practical.  Prayers,  hymns, 
Scripture  reading,  text,  sermon,  all  converged  on  the  same  cen- 
tral theme,  and  went  to  heighten  the  impression  of  the  lead- 
ing thought. 

The  following  description  of  his  preaching,  at  an  early  pe- 
riod, was  given  by  Charles  L.  Brace,  in  a  recent  letter  to  the 
Eiiangelist : — 

"The  writer  holds  it  among  tlie  especial  blessings  of  his  life  that  his 
boyhood  and  youth  were  jDassed  under  the  pastorate  of  Dr.  Bushnell. 
Those  were  the  eager  and  powerful  days  of  the  great  preacher,  when  his 
.language  had  a  pure  and  Saxon  ring  which  it  somewhat  lost  in  later 


80  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

years,  when  emotions  from  the  depths  of  a  passionate  nature  bore  him 
sometimes  to  the  highest  flights  of  eloquence,  and  wit  and  sarcasm 
flashed  from  his  talk  and  speeches,  and  he  stood  the  most  independent 
and  muscular  sermonizer  in  the  American  pulpit.  He  reached  after- 
wards a  higher  plane  of  spiritual  life,  and  showed  more  balanced  power 
and  more  consideration  for  the  views  of  others,  and  was  no  doubt  more 
humljle-minded,  and  yet  more  elevated  above  the  world  ;  still  those  early 
fiery  days  of  his  left  an  indelible  mark  on  all  the  youth  who  came  under 
his  influence.  We  felt  the  divine  beauty  of  Truth,  and  how  sweet  and 
easy  it  was  to  sacrifice  all  to  her.  We  were  withdrawn  from  the  over- 
powering control  of  external  formuloe  and  formal  statements,  and  began  to 
search  for  the  realities  as  for  hidden  treasures.  Our  great  teacher  seemed 
to  stand  as  a  prophet,  directing  us  to  things  unseen  and  eternal ;  and 
though  perhaps  he  and  his  disciples  at  that  time  exaggerated  the  value 
of  the  intellect,  it  was  a  healthful  movement,  and  always  inspired  with 
devout  reverence  and  a  deep  sense  of  the  j)ersonality  of  Clirist  as  the  Son 
of  God.  Truth,  independence,  humanity,  under  an  overpowering  faith 
in  God  and  Christ,  were  the  principles  stamped  then  into  youthful  minds 
by  the  preaching  and  life  of  Dr.  Bushncll.  He  showed  himself  in  all  his 
intercourse,  what  he  was,  a  large  pattern  of  a  man.  Proud,  at  times  al- 
most disdainful;  full  of  powerful  feelings;  simple;  witty;  tender  as  a 
woman  to  real  misfortune,  but  biting  in  his  sarcasm  against  pomposity 
and  falseness ;  self-willed,  thoroughly  independent,  a  true  leader  of  men." 


We  have  spoken  of  a  constraint  of  manner,  and  traced  it,  in 
part,  to  a  want  of  confidence ;  for,  though  called  a  self-confi- 
dent man  (as  he  was  in  matters  of  opinion),  he  was,  notwith- 
standing, characterized  by  an  unaffected  personal  modesty. 
But  he  was  under  a  certain  constraint,  too,  which  came  from 
external  influences,  by  which  he  was  hampered  more  than  he 
realized.  Not  only  were  there  rocks  ahead  all  the  time  in 
theological  differences,  as  sharply  defined  in  his  own  church 
as  in  the  Church  at  large,  among  which  he  must  steer  his  way, 
but  there  was  also  a  constantly  increasing  heat  and  animosity 
on  the  slavery  question.  The  fact  that  his  own  j^osition  on 
this  question  was  positively  antislavery,  but  non-abolitionist, 
did  not  simplify  the  matter.  It  would  have  been  easier  for 
liim  if,  on  all  great  questions,  he  had  been  able  to  take  sides 
with  either  party.  But  this  was  not  his  way.  Whether  in 
public  affairs  or  in  religious  questions,  it  was  his  tendency  to 
seek,  not  the  fence  by  any  means,  but  the  powerful  sweep 


CONFORMITY  IN  SMALL  THINGS.  81 

of  the  mid-stream  between  the  opposing  shores  of  Conserva- 
tism and  Radicalism.  lie  found  here  difficult  swimming  and 
little  company,  but  that  sort  of  progress  which  is  most  sure 
and  prevailing. 

There  was  another  kind  of  restraint,  which  must  have  been 
irksome  in  those  days  to  independent  men,  in  the  too  strin- 
gent and  arbitrary  standards  upheld  by  religious  people  as  to 
the  conduct  of  life  in  small  things.  The  typical  Kew-Eng- 
lander  was,  in  one  sense,  much  of  a  Jew,  and  lived  by  statutes 
as  strict  and  numerous  as  those  of  Leviticus  and  Deuteronomy. 
From  the  influence  of  Bushneirs  early  training  had  come  the 
conscientious  habit  of  his  manhood,  to  consent  to  and  follow 
those  rules  of  life,  even  in  unimportant  matters,  which,  in  the 
minds  of  those  about  him,  were  connected  with  religious 
standards  and  had  become  points  of  conscience.  If  he,  too, 
became  a  Jew,  it  was  after  the  manner  of  Paul.  He  took  heed 
lest  his  liberty  should  become  a  stumbling-block  to  them  that 
are  weak ;  and  if  his  eating  meat  should  cause  a  brother  to  of- 
fend, he  would  eat  no  meat  while  the  world  stood.  On  one 
fast-day  evening,  he  was  replenishing  exhausted  nature  after 
the  day's  work  with  a  somewhat  hearty  supper,  when,  finding 
that  he  was,  by  so  doing,  wounding  the  conscience  of  the  faith- 
ful Presbyterian  woman  who  cooked  for  him,  he  cut  short 
tlie  meal  with  a  joke,  which,  reaching  her  ears,  was  to  her 
thinking  as  grievous  an  abuse  of  a  sacred  day  as  even  feasting 
could  be.  It  was  singular  that  he  could  follow  this  course  of 
conformity  for  years  without  restricting  his  mental  freedom  ; 
but  forbearance,  even  verging  on  caution,  went  hand  in  hand 
wnth  his  fearless  pursuit  of  truth,  yet  did  not  encumber  it. 
And  though  this  was  the  work  of  conscience,  or  perhaps  he- 
cause  it  was,  he  did  not  make  a  very  solemn  matter  of  it,  but 
carried  off  his  submission  with  jollity  and  good  cheer.  If  he 
had  too  little  reverence  for  anybody's  dictum,  he  made  it  up 
by  a  deep  and  genuine  reverence  for  the  leadings  of  conscience 
in  the  most  ignorant  of  his  fellow-men. 

The  subject  of  revivals  was,  all  through  his  ministry,  a  great 
perplexity  to  him.  "  The  machinery  system  of  revivals"  was 
pushed  then  to  greater  extremes  than  now.     The  frequent 


82  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

presence  of  tlie  evangelist  preacher,  and  the  tacit  acknowledg- 
ment that  progress  and  development  in  the  churches  were  im- 
possible without  these  spasmodic  and  frequently  applied  ex- 
citements, were  constant  sources  of  annoyance  to  a  pastor 
faithfully  endeavoring  to  lead  his  people  in  high  and  constant 
modes  of  Christian  growth.  The  prepossessions  of  religious 
people  were  so  strong  upon  this  point  that  he  had  great  diffi- 
culty in  making  his  views  understood.  He  was  willing  to  con- 
cede a  certain  use  in  religious  revivals,  but  not  to  leave  to 
them  the  whole  field  of  religious  experience  and  character. 
In  1836  he  published,  in  the  Christian  Spectator^  an  article  on 
"  Revivals  of  Religion,"  eleven  years  later  reprinted  with  the 
second  edition  of  his  "  Christian  Kurture,"  and  designed  to 
clear  his  position  upon  this  point. 

A  few  quotations  will  sufficiently  explain  his  views.  He 
says,  "  ^Nature  is  multiform  and  various  on  every  side.  She 
is  never  doing  exactly  the  same  thing  at  one  time  which  she 
has  done  at  another.  She  brings  forth  all  her  bounties  by  in- 
constant applications  and  clierishments  endlessly  varied.  A 
single  thought  extended  in  this  direction  were  enough,  it 
would  seem,  to  show  us  that,  while  God  is  unchangeable,  he  is 
infinitely  various — unchangeable  in  his  purposes,  various  in 
his  means.  And  so  it  is  instructive  to  advert  to  the  various 
and  periodical  changes  of  temperament  which  affect  men  in 
other  matters  than  religion.  These  fluctuations  are  epidemi- 
cal, too,  extending  to  whole  communities,  and  infecting  them 
with  an  ephemeral  interest  in  various  subjects,  which  after- 
wards they  wonder  at  themselves,  and  can  in  no  way  recall. 
No  observing  public  speaker  ever  failed  to  be  convinced  that 
man  is  a  being,  mentally,  of  moods  and  phases  which  it  were 
as  vain  to  attempt  the  control  of  as  to  push  aside  the  stars. 
These  fluctuations  or  mental  tides  are  due,  perhaps,  to  physi- 
cal changes,  and  perhaps  not.  They  roll  round  the  earth  like 
invisible  waves,  and  the  chemist  and  physician  tax  their  skill 
in  vain  to  find  the  subtle  powers  that  sway  us.  We  only  know 
that  God  is  present  to  these  fluctuations,  whatever  their  real 
nature,  and  that  they  are  all  inhabited  by  the  Divine  Rower. 
Is  it  incredible,  then,  that  this  same  Divine  Power  should  pro- 


REVIVALS   OF  RELIGION.  83 

dnce  periodical  influences  in  the  matter  of  religion — times  of 
peculiar,  various,  and  periodicar  interest  ?  .  .  .  These  remarks 
bring  us  to  conclude  that  there  is  in  what  we  call  revivals  of 
religion  something  of  a  periodical  nature,  which  belongs  to 
.the  appointed  plar.of  God  in  his  moral  operations;  but  as  far 
as  they  are,  what  the  name  imports,  revivals  of  religion  (that 
is,  of  the  principle  of  love  and  obedience),  they  are  linked  with 
dishonor;  so  far  they  are  made  necessary  by  the  instability 
and  bad  faith  of  Christ's  disciples.  But  here  it  must  be  noted 
that  the  dishonor  does  not  belong  to  the  revival,  but  to  the  de- 
cay of  principle  in  the  disciple,  which  needs  reviving. 

"  We  now  pass  on  to  a  stage  in  which  dishonor  attaches  to 
the  scene  of  revival  itself.  This  is  when  it  takes  an  extreme 
character,  which  is  not  given  it  by  the  Spirit  of  God,  but  orig- 
inates in  some  mistake  of  opinion  or  extravagance  of  conduct 
in  the  subjects  and  conductors.  What  we  complain  of  and 
resist  is  the  artificial  firework,  the  extraordinary  combined 
jump  and  stir,  supposed  to  be  requisite  when  anything  is  to 
be  done.  It  seems  often  not  to  be  known  that  the  extraordi- 
nary in  action,  as  in  rhetoric,  is  imj)otence  itself.  It  must 
come  to  pass  naturally,  or  emerge  as  a  natural  crisis  of  the 
ordinary,  if  it  is  to  have  any  consequence.  .  .  .  But  to  act  on 
views  like  these  would  require  the  ministry  to  enlarge  the 
sphere  of  their  instructions, ...  to  acquire  a  more  complete  and 
proportional  idea  of  character,  and  to  learn  to  go  beyond  the 
line  of  exercises  which  only  nrge  repentance.  Paul  did  not 
regard  the  religious  character  in  his  converts  as  a  tiling  by  it- 
self, a  conversion  well  tested  and  followed  by  a  few  duties 
specially  religious.  He  considered  the  whole  character  of  the 
disciple — mind,  manners,  habits,  principles — as  the  Lord's  prop- 
erty. He  felt  that  the  Gospel  was  intended  and  fitted  to  act 
on  everything  evil  and  ungraceful  in  man's  character,  and  ap- 
plied it  to  that  purpose.  Let  the  minister  of  truth,  then,  oc- 
cupy such  intervals  as  are  suitable  in  forming  the  character 
of  his  people  to  things  lovely  and  of  good  rejDort.  Let  him 
take  advantage  of  Scripture  history,  and  especially  of  the 
history  of  Christ's  life  and  manners,  to  draw  out  illustra- 
tions of  character,  and  beget,  what  is  so  much  needed  by  the 


84  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

Christian  body,  a  sense  of  character,  of  moral  beauty  and  com- 
pleteness." 

This  was  the  high  ideal  of  the  Christian  ministry  which  he 
M'as  always  endeavoring  to  till  out  in  his  own  earnest,  unspar- 
ing way  of  work.  His  service  never  dragged  into  a  dull  rou- 
tine, fitfully  lighted  by  flashes  of  spasmodic  enthusiasm.  He 
was  inventive  and  full  of  resources  in  his  methods  of  influ- 
ence, and  so  fully  alive  and  alert  that  no  soul  was  left  to  slum- 
ber in  his  presence.  The  mind  wliicli  he  would  help  he  first 
kindled,  letting  in  daylight  at  neglected  windows,  and*  fresh 
breezes  of  inspiration  at  long-closed  doors.  Then,  when  life 
was  awakened,  he  offered  as  food  to  the  hungry  soul  no  stale 
platitudes,  or  morsels  of  innutritions  doctrine ;  but  the  whole- 
some bread  of  life,  genuine  hopes,  living  faith,  love  and  work 
worthy  of  a  man. 


LOSS  OF  A  CHILD.  85 


CHAPTER  YI. 

1837-1810. 

LOSS  OF  Ills  BABY  LILY.— SUMMER  VACATION  AT  LONG  ISL- 
AND.—LOSS  OF  HIS  MOTHER.— BIRTH  OF  HIS  SON.— ADDRESS 
AT  ANDOVER  AND  FIRST  HERESY.— DEACON  SETII  TERRY.— 
AMERICAN  POLITICS.— CALL  TO  THE  PRESIDENCY  OF  MID- 
DLE BURY  COLLEGE. 

In  the  year  1837,  he  lost  his  infant  daughter,  Lilj.  The 
older  child  was  very  ill  at  the  same  time,  and  his  tender  minis- 
trations at  home  were  unceasing.  A  friend  of  his  wife's,  who 
was  often  with  them  in  this  hour  of  trial,  was  much  touched 
by  the  exquisite  tenderness  of  the  loving  father,  whose  stronger 
and  more  worldward  side  were  all  that  she  had  known  of  him 
hitherto.  Even  now  she  recalls  it,  as  a  beautiful  life-long 
memory,  and  says  that  as  she  learned  to  know  him  then,  she 
has  loved  him  always. 

The  next  autumn,  the  saddened  parents  took  a  journey 
through  Canada  together,  and  made  their  first  visit  to  Niagara. 
They  also  went  to  Brockport,  New  York,  whither  Mr.  En- 
sign Bushnell  had  lately  removed  his  family  from  New  Pres- 
ton, and  there  Horace  Bushnell  saw  his  beloved  mother  for 
the  last  time.  There  is  no  written  record  of  the  journey, 
but  it  was  a  time  of  much-needed  rest  and  renewal.  In  the 
summer,  he  had  given  at  Yale  a  Phi  Beta  Kappa  address,  on 
the  "  True  Wealth  and  Weal  of  Nations,"  the  earliest  written 
of  the  papers  contained  in  "Work  and  Play."  The  summer 
vacation  of  the  next  year  was  spent  along  the  shores  of  Long 
Island  Sound,  and  he  finally  found  himself  at  East  Hampton, 
on  the  outer  coast  of  Long  Island,  whence  the  following  let- 
ter was  written : — 


86  LIFE  OF  HORACE   BUSIINELL, 

East  Hampton,  July  18,  1838. 
My  dearkst  Wife, — Yon  sec  (and  you  understand  how 
about  as  avcU  as  I  do)  that  1  have  drifted  off  to  sea.  On 
Monday  morning,  learning  that  a  sloop  was  just  about  sail- 
ing for  Sag  lIarl)or,  a  considerable  whaling  village  on  Long 
Island,  I  put  aboard  in  company  with  Mr.  MacDonald,  and 
now  we  are  here.  On  landing,  we  found  a  carriage  waiting 
to  take  somebody  to  East  Hamilton,  and,  as  there  was  nobody 
else  to  go,  we  Avere  obliged,  of  course.  East  Hampton  turns 
out  to  be  a  simple  Puritan  village,  on  the  south  side  of  Long 
Island,  and  formerly  under  the  government  of  Connecticut. 
The  town  extends  down  to  Montauk  Toint,  twenty-five  miles, 
including  all  the  east  end  of  the  island ;  but  the  inhabitants 
are  all  here,  save  one  poor  light-house  tender.  The  surf  roars, 
a  mile  off  from  the  house  and  street,  not  unlike  Kiagara,  and 
to  my  mind  constitutes  a  scene  of  sublimity  altogether  new, — 
shall  I  say  second  to  Niagara  itself  ?  See  the  eternal,  vast 
ocean  rolling  in  from  immensity,  and  hear  it  thundering  on 
the  trembling  shores.  And,  if  it  Avould  add  at  all  to  the 
scene,  march  down  trembling  into  its  cataracts,  as  I  did  this 
morning,  and  shall  do  again  this  evening.  This  is  tlie  place 
for  me.  I  begin  to  feel  alive.  We  have  a  simple,  neat  fare, 
with  a  Puritan-like  family.  I  forgot  to  say  that  this  was  the 
place,  and  the  sea-sui:f  perhaps  the  element,  in  which  Dr. 
Beecher  was  hatched  into  a  great  man.  MacDonald  will  go 
home  to-morrow  morning,  and  leave  me  here.  But  I  expect 
that  he  will  send  over  Mr.  J>.  I  hope,  too,  that  he  will  send 
me  a  letter  from  you,  which  is  necessary  now  to  put  me  quite 
at  ease.  I  am  afraid  you  can  hardly  imagine  how  very  com- 
fortable it  is  here.  I  have  been  almost  tempted  to  go  directly 
to  Hartford  and  bring  you  on  here ;  and  I  would,  if  it  would  not 
take  up  all  the  time  I  have  left.  I  shall  remain  here  till  next 
Tuesday,  aiul  in  the  evening  you  will  probably  see  your  guilty 
deserter  return.  I  was  never  so  much  away  from  home  in 
my  life.  It  seems  like  a  violence  almost  that  severs  me  thus 
from  you.  I  can  hardly  understand  how  it  has  come  to  pass 
that  I  have  thus  turned  my  back  on  all  that  binds  me  to  the 
earth, — binds  me  stronger  than  I  ever  realized  before.     The 


DEATH   AND  BIRTH.  87 

Lord  be  with  you,  and  with  our  dear  child,  and  keep  both 
you  and  yours  safely.  II,  Busiinell. 

While  he  was  at  East  Hampton,  his  wife  at  homo  received 
the  sad  news  of  his  mother's  death,  and  sent  it  to  him  at 
once ;  but  communication  was  so  slow  that  he  did  not  hear 
of  the  event  in  time  to  be  present  at  her  funeral  in  Brock- 
port,  N.  Y.,  where  she  had  died.  It  had  been  a  subject  of 
tender  regret  with  him  that  his  mother  had  been  uprooted 
from  the  old  home  in  Xew  Preston,  and  that,  so  late  in  life, 
his  parents  had  attempted  to  organize  a  new  home  in  the 
West.  The  hard-working  life  had  been  unremitting  in  its 
cares  and  labors  even  to  the  end ;  and  he  said  more  than  once, 
w^ith  moistened  eyes,  that  he  did  not  doubt  that  all  these 
things  (the  work  and  the  late  removal)  had  conspired  to 
shorten  that  life  so  dear  to  him.  Eagerly  as  he  embraced 
work  himself,  rugged  and  unsparing  of  his  manly  strength  as 
he  was,  he  had  a  chivalrous  sympathy  and  tenderness  for 
working-women  in  their  hardships,  which,  doubtless,  sprang 
from  his  memories  of  his  mother  and  her  labors. 

Joy  followed  pain  in  quick  succession.  In  September, 
shortly  after  his  return  home,  his  first  and  only  son  was  born. 
Writing  of  the  event  to  his  wife's  mother,  Mrs.  Apthorp,  he 
speaks  thus  of  "  the  little  gentleman :"  "  I  suppose  I  ought 
to  bulletin  the  first  sign  of  intelligence,  given  some  four  or 
five  days  ago  in  the  shape  of  a  very  gracious  and  meditative 
smile,  which,  doubtless,  he  will  repeat  on  sundry  occasions  yet 
to  come,  as  he  has  done  already.  Do  tell  us  what  to  call  him, 
so  that  we  shall  think  it  the  very  best  name  in  the  world." 
But  the  mother  thought  ''the  very  best  name"  was  Horace, 
which  Avas,  accordingly,  given  to  the  child. 

In  the  spring  of  1839,  he  was  complaining  again  of  throat 
trouble,  and  in  July  was  glad  to  make  his  escape  for  a  time 
to  Saratoga. 

To  his  Wife. 

Saratoga,  Sabbath  Evening,  July  7,  1839. 

My  DEAEEST  Maey, — You  told  me  that  I  must  not  write 
you  a  hasty  letter,  though  I  am  not  certain  how  much  you 

7 


88  LIFE   OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL, 

will  gain  by  the  requisition ;  for  it  may  turn  oat  here,  as  it 
does  with  my  sermons,  that  the  quickest  work  is  the  best.  I 
arrived  here  yesterday,  as  I  expected,  and  found  a  lodgment 
at  the  Union  Hall,  where  I  am  for  the  present.  I  am  pleas- 
antly disappointed  in  Saratoga.  It  is  destined  to  become  a 
very  beautiful  place,  as  well  as  a  resort  of  disease  and  fashion. 
Whether  the  waters  will  do  me  any  good  is,  of  course,  to  be 
decided,  though  I  hope  for  the  best. 

But  among  all  the  pleasant  things,  and  above  all  besides,  is 
that  which  I  always  realize  when  I  go  from  home, — that  I 
begin  at  once  to  find  my  thoughts  turning  thither  and  re- 
volving with  a  newly  recruited  desire  about  the  place.  ]^o 
sooner  do  I  find  myself  at  rest,  and  free  in  the  play  of  my 
natural  thoughts  and  feelings,  than  a  sweet  sense  of  estrange- 
ment begins  to  creep  over  me.  In  such  a  case,  it  is  truly 
most  delightful  to  see  how  sweetly  what  is  left  behind  insin- 
uates its  presence.  The  w^alk,  the  solitary  chamber  even,  are 
haunted  unawares  by  a  feeling  which  must  be  called  social. 
The  tone  of  conversation,  the  opinions  expressed,  are  mould- 
ed or  sentimentalized  by  that  same  thing  which  I  have  called 
a  sweet  sense  of  estrangement,  and  which  is,  in  fact,  a  very 
present  presence.  I  recollect,  as  I  write,  that  in  reading  a 
treatise  or  exposition  of  Quaker  doctrine,  which  I  have  been 
doing  to-day  watli  much  real  edification,  I  was  half  converted 
by  the  verj^  handsome,  if  I  should  not  say  beautiful,  argument 
offered  in  honor  of  a  woman  ministry.  If  I  should  return  a 
Quaker  for  your  sake,  I  trust  you  will  be  ready  to  become  a 
Quakeress  for  mine.  Indeed,  if  I  cannot  get  over  my  present 
difficulty,  the  pleasant  relief  of  Quaker  silence  may  further 
constrain  me,  and  you  will  then  be  able  to  exercise  the  gift 
which  I  have  lost.  .  .  . 

Your  husband,  Hoeace  Bushnell. 

In  the  following  September,  he  delivered,  before  the  Soci- 
ety of  Inquiry  at  Andover,  Mass.,  an  address  on  "  Kevela- 
tion."  The  time  set  for  the  address  was  anticipated  by  a 
week,  and  he  was  not  aware  of  the  fact  until  the  Sunday 
night  preceding  the  Tuesday  on  which  the  yet  unwritten  ad- 


ADDRESS  AT  ANDOVER.  89 

dress  was  to  be  given.  He  shut  himself  up  all  day  Monday, 
jumped  into  the  stage  at  sundown,  the  ink  still  wet  on  his 
manuscrijit,  rode  all  night  to  Worcester,  and  on  the  next  day 
to  Andover,  where  he  arrived  just  before  dinner,  and  imme- 
diately after  gave  his  address.  Necessarily  it  was  hasty  in 
form ;  but  the  material  had  long  been  in  his  mind,  had  al- 
ready been  studied  in  college  days,  and  was  destined  to  be- 
come central  in  his  system  of  thought.  The  subject  was  Lan- 
guage, its  use  in  figures,  and  its  methods  of  interj^retation, 
especially  as  applied  to  Biblical  statements  concerning  the 
Trinity.  The  doctrine  here  first  broached  was,  according  to 
orthodox  standards,  not  less  than  heresy.  Such  he  felt  it  to 
be,  and  knew  that  he  was  now  taking  that  first  step  which 
costs  so  much.  Out  of  health  as  he  was  already,  he  looked 
to  the  consequences  with  some  grave  apprehensions,  shown 
clearly  in  the  following  letter  to  his  wife,  which  was  written 
during  his  absence,  and  while  he  was  making  a  little  visit  to 
a  college  friend  : — 

Byfield,  September  7,  1839. 
My  dear  Mary, — I  have  not  yet  received  any  notice  of  your 
whereabouts  ;  but  I  feel  this  morning  as  if  I  wanted  to  have  a 
little  talk  with  you,  and  will  try  to  give  my  letter  an  address 
that  w^ill  find  you  out,  at  any  rate.  I  am  enjoying  a  very  pleas- 
ant time  here,  of  course ;  but  not  so  pleasant  that  my  mind 
does  not  often  turn  towards  my  dear  home,  and  the  dear  wife 
in  whom  my  heart  has  so  sweet  a  repose.  My  home  is  more  a 
home  to  me  than  it  ever  was.  I  linger  round  it  with  a  domestic 
love  which  I  seem  never  to  have  realized  before,  except  in 
some  partial  degree.  Perhaps  it  is  owing  partly  to  the  plans 
we  have  been  moulding  together  for  the  advancement  of 
our  children,  the  disinterested  and  somewhat  self-denying  ex- 
pedients we  have  been  projecting.  But  wife  and  children, — 
a  w^ife  the  dearer  because  she  is  the  mother  of  my  chil- 
dren ;  children  the  dearer  because  they  are  the  children  of 
my  wife ;  home  sanctified  by  the  common  endearments  of 
both, — these  are  the  thoughts  and  images  that  visit  me  with 
their  fresh  and  gentle  influence.  I  call  myself  a  husband  and 
father,  consider  the  dependence  which  hangs  on  me,  propose 


90  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

to  do  more  for  my  dear  family,  revolve  the  possibility  that  I 
may  not  be  able  to  do  what  I  would  for  them,  feel  a  shade 
of  melancholy,  hope,  waver,  turn  to  God,  who  is  the  defender 
both  of  myself  and  them,  and  there  rest,— rest  the  more  sweet- 
ly because  of  my  frailty  and  my  love  together.  I  cannot  but 
feel  a  degree  of  anxiety  about  myself  in  regard  to  my  future 
health,  which  is  constantly  acting  on  my  love  to  my  family. 
This  disease  hangs  about  me,  and  I  am  afraid  is  getting  a 
deeper  hold  of  me.  Not  that  I  seem  to  have  been  specially 
injured  by  my  late  task  in  the  Andover  matter,  for  I  was 
borne  through  it  quite  above  ray  expectations ;  but  the  mis- 
chief clings  to  me,  and  will  not  let  me  go.  In  the  hasty 
scratch  I  sent  you  in  the  turmoil  of  the  anniversary,  I  told 
you  generally  how  I  succeeded.  ...  I  said  some  things  very 
cautiously  in  regard  to  the  Trinity  which,  perhaps,  will  make 
a  little  breeze.  If  so,  I  shall  not  feel  much  upset.  I  have 
been  thinking  lately  that  I  must  write  and  publish  the  whole 
truth  on  these  subjects  as  God  has  permitted  me  to  see  it.  I 
have  withheld  till  my  views  are  well  matured ;  and  to  with- 
hold longer,  I  fear,  is  a  want  of  that  moral  courage  which 
animated  Luther  and  every  other  man  who  has  been  a  true 
soldier  of  Christ.  Then,  thinking  of  such  men  lately,  I  have 
often  had  self-reproaches  which  were  very  unpleasant.  Has 
my  dear  wife  any  of  Luther's  spirit  ?  Will  she  enter  into  the 
hazards  and  reproaches,  and  perhaps  privations,  which  lie  in 
this  encounter  for  the  truth  ?  Strange,  you  will  say,  that  I 
should  be  talking,  in  the  same  letter,  of  doing  more  for  my 
family  and  of  endangering  all  their  worldly  comforts.  But 
I  am  under  just  these  contending  impulses.  However,  in 
what  way  shall  I  do  more  for  my  family  than  to  connect  their 
history  with  the  truth  of  Christ  ?  How  more,  for  example, 
for  our  dear  boy  than  to  give  him  the  name  and  example  of 
a  father  who  left  him  his  fortunes,  rough  and  hard  as  they 
were,  in  the  field  of  truth  ?  But  will  not  God  take  care  of 
us  ?  These  are  thoughts  which  liave  been  urging  me  for  the 
last  few  months,  or  since  the  shock  that  has  befallen  my 
health.  And  I  have  sometimes  felt  afraid  that  I  should  be 
obliged  to  leave  the  world  before  my  work  was  done.     Shall 


ANXIETIES.  91 

we  go  forward  ?  If  I  receive  notice  that  yon  are  at  home,  I 
shall  be  at  home,  I  think,  Wednesday  or  Thursday  of  next 
week. 

In  another  letter  to  his  wife  occurs  the  following  passage : — 

Saratoga,  July  15, 1839. 
.  .  .  There  is  one  grand  rectifier  of  man,  and  only  one,  in 
which  I  have  confidence, — religion  and  the  grace  of  God. 
This  is  a  remedy  which  comprehends  everything.  And  the 
more  I  think  of  it,  the  more  clear  does  it  seem  to  me  that 
our  eyes  must  turn  hither.  It  moves  from  a  point  back  of  all 
difiiculties,  and  supersedes  them  by  a  comprehensive,  blessed, 
overflowing  influence.  I  certainly  would  not  discourage  the 
seeking  out  special  faults,  and  the  endeavor  to  correct  them 
by  good  resolutions.  I  have  some  on  hand  which  I  hope  to 
oi3serve;  but,  after  all,  I  can  hardly  confide  in  anything  but 
a  truly  pious  spirit  of  life.  Perhaps  God  will  teach  us,  my 
dear,  to  exercise  such  a  spirit  by  calling  me  off  from  my  office 
and  resources,  by  reducing  us  to  the  humility  of  want  and 
pious  dependence  on  him. 

A.  postscript  to  his  little  daughter  followed : — 

Dear  L., — I  thank  you  very  much  for  your  sweet  little 
letter.  If  you  learn  to  read  and  write,  you  will  be  able  very 
soon  to  write  me  little  letters  with  your  own  hand.  I  hope 
you  are  learning  very  fast.  I  shall  be  at  home  in  just  a  week 
more,  and  I  hope  you  will  be  so  good  all  the  time  till  then 
that  your  kisses  will  be  very  sweet  to  me.  Good  children, 
you  know,  give  sweeter  kisses,  by  a  great  deal,  tlia.n  bad  ones. 
And  God,  my  child,  you  know,  will  help  you  to  be  good  if 
you  wish  to  be.  He  has  given  you  a  good  mamma,  and  a 
sweet  little  home,  and  a  yard  to  play  in,  and  everything  to 
make  you  good  and  happy.  Your  father  loves  you  more  than 
he  can  tell  you,  and  sends  his  thoughts  away  in  the  night  into 
your  chamber  where  you  sleep,  and  prays  God  to  bless  you. 
Good-bye,  my  child  1  A  kiss.  Youk  Fathek. 


92  LIFE   OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

Already  his  departure  from  the  accepted  standards  of  doc- 
trine had  brought  his  preaching  under  the  close  scrutiny  of 
the  conservative  part  of  his  congregation.  Deacon  Seth  Ter- 
ry, once  before  alluded  to  as  the  chief  representative  of  the 
Old  School  in  the  North  Church,  wrote  him  in  January,  1839, 
a  letter  of  kind  remonstrance  on  this  subject.  He  said,  "I 
have  for  some  time  been  exceedingly  pressed  in  my  mind 
respecting  my  duty  to  yourself  and  the  church  of  which 
you  are  pastor  and  I  an  unworthy  member,  regarding  my 
views  of  your  public  ministrations.  .  .  .  Between  our  views 
of  many  of  the  important  doctrines  and  princij^les  of  the 
Scriptures,  I  have  been  more  and  more  convinced  of  late,  and 
especially  since  your  recent  exposition  in  your  doctrinal  dis- 
courses, there  is  a  wide  difference.  Had  tliis  difference  been 
on  minor  points,  or  on  those  of  a  controverted  nature,  I  should 
have  had  less  difficulty,  and  perhaps  have  remained  silent ; 
but,  as  I  view  it,  you  hold  many  things  which  affect  and  sub- 
vert long-established  and  well-established  doctrines  and  prin- 
ciples, and  those  in  which  our  churches  are  at  rest  and  in 
union."  He  fears  that  the  letter  may  seem  disrespectful  to 
his  pastor  (a  fault  which  his  respect  for  the  ministry  would 
forbid),  and  adds,  "  If,  in  my  endeavors  to  be  plain  and  ex- 
plicit, I  should  seem  to  be  harsh,  I  assure  you  that  such  are 
my  feelings  towards  you  personally,  arising  from  your  gen- 
tlemanly and  Christian  deportment,  that  I  should  regret  it." 
He  then  proceeds  carefully  to  instance  the  points  upon  which 
he  thinks  he  sees  in  his  pastor  a  defection  from  the  true  faith, 
and  especially  upon  the  doctrines  of  regeneration  and  total 
depravity  or  original  sin.  "  I  would  have  a  child  of  mine," 
he  says,  "  told  that  he  was  all  the  time  sinning  and  rebelling, 
and  that  he  must  yield  himself  to  God  as  a  living  sacrifice, 
and  that  nothing  short  of  that  will  avail.  .  .  .  The  sinner  under 
conviction  does  not  need  advice  from  the  minister  of  Christ 
to  set  about  praying  and  striving  and  doing  other  penances 
calculated  to  satisfy  his  conscience  and  make  him  feel  easy, 
at  a  point  short  of  submission  and  love.  Universal  experience 
has  shown  that  the  Adversary  will  always  help  him  to  do  this, 
and  he,  often  resting  on  these,  comes  short  of  salvation."    He 


AMERICAN  POLITICS.  93 

also  discusses  a  sermon  which  "exceedingly  alarmed"  him, 
and  parts  of  which  he  could  not  even  liear,  as  "his  spirit  sank 
within  him."  In  closing  his  letter,  he  again  exjn-esses  his  pain 
that  he  is  now,  for  the  first  time,  so  unhappy  as  to  differ  from 
his  pastor,  and  that  "  on  doctrines  concerning  which  liis  own 
views  have  not  changed  for  the  last  thirty  years."  We  have 
not  Mr.  Bushnell's  answer  to  this  letter,  but  we  find  it  full  of 
his  pencilled  notes,  and  comments  on  points  where  he  evident- 
ly meant,  if  possible,  to  satisfy  Deacon  Terry.  The  passage  on 
depravity  is  the  only  one  unmarked  by  notes,  and  was  doubt- 
less, both  in  his  view  and  Deacon  Terry's,  unanswerable.  The 
letter,  with  its  blue  paper,  quaint  handwriting,  and  formal 
manner,  is  a  complete  embodiment  of  the  tlieology  it  rejDre- 
sents,  and  recalls  vividly  the  state  of  sentiment  and  opinion 
which  opposed  itself  to  his  teaching. 

In  December,  1840,  he  preached  and  published  a  sermon 
on  American  Politics.  The  national  questions  of  the  hour 
were  always  full  of  excitement  to  his  mind,  and  he  kept  a 
keen  eye  upon  all  public  tendencies  which  might  endanger 
tlie  body  politic.  In  this  sermon,  he  called  attention  to  some 
dangers  which  looked  then  most  imminent,  and  also  to  some 
which  had  only  just  begun  to  loom  upon  the  horizon,  and 
which  are  vital  questions  in  the  country  to-day.  To  the  lat- 
ter class  belong  the  two  following  quotations  : — 

"  We  are  led  to  inquire  wlaat  part  is  proper  to  the  women  of  our  land 
in  these  political  strifes.  It  is  worth  noticing  that  of  the  two  women 
most  conspicuous  in  the  history  of  our  Lord's  trial-scene,  Pilate's  wife, 
who  stayed  at  home,  gave  him  some  good  advice,  which  it  had  been  well 
for  him  to  follow ;  while  the  busy  maid,  who  went,  actually  faced  down 
an  apostle,  and  made  him  lie  and  swear  as  vilely  as  the  worst  man  could. 
Some,  I  know,  are  pleased  to  unite  the  ladies  in  their  political  demon- 
strations, because  their 'presence  greatly  conduces  to  preserve  order  and 
decorum.  And  doubtless  it  does  in  its  first  effects.  It  is  an  honorable 
distinction  of  our  country  that  we  pay  so  delicate  a  respect  to  the  female 
sex,  and  that  our  roughest  men,  our  roughest  assemblages,  are  seen  to  be 
softened  and  dignified  by  their  presence.  But  I  am  greatly  jealous  still 
of  the  future  efi"ects  that  will  follow^  if  the  practice  alluded  to  be  contin- 
ued. It  will  not  take  many  years  of  rough  publicity,  in  these  ways,  to 
make  our  ladies  mere  women  to  us,  and  abolish  the  delicate  respect  we 


94  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

yield  them.  ...  I  should  be  silent  on  this  subject  were  it  not  for  the  rev- 
olution which  is  beginning  to  appear  in  the  manners  of  the  female  sex 
in  a  certain  section  of  our  country.  I  am  anxious  that  such  a  revolution 
should  have  no  general  countenance  anywhere.  Perhaps  I  am  unreason- 
ably anxious ;  but  if  that  revolution  is  to  go  on  as  it  has  begun,  it  will 
certainly  destroy  some  of  the  most  precious  and  best  influences  we  have 
left.  Do  save  us  one  half  of  society  free  of  the  broils  and  bruises  and 
arts  of  demagogy  !  Let  us  have  a  place  of  quiet,  and  some  quiet  minds 
wliich  the  din  of  our  public  war  never  embroils.  Let  a  little  of  the 
sweetness  and  purity,  and,  if  we  can  have  it,  of  the  simple  religion,  of 
life  remain.  God  made  the  woman  to  be  a  helj)  for  man,  not  to  be  wres- 
tler with  him.  This  he  declared  in  the  grand  sacrament  of  creation,  and 
we  have  a  greater  interest  in  the  arrangement  as  religious  beings  than 
many  ever  stay  to  consider.  Here  it  is  that  feeling  is  kept  alive  in  us, 
and  our  affections  saved  from  utter  extinction.  United,  here  by  truth 
and  love,  the  truth  of  heaven  and  the  love  of  God  find  a  place  also  to 
enter  our  hearts.  Or  if  this  be  too  much,  our  nature  is  at  least  prepared, 
in  a  degree,  to  understand  and  open  itself  to  the  blessed  approaches  of 
religion.  But  if  to  all  our  present  powers  of  strife  and  faction  we  are  to 
add  a  race  of  factious  women,  there  will  not  be  left  enough  of  feeling 
and  rest  to  make  life  tolerable  or  allow  virtue  to  breathe."  .  .  . 

"Again,  we  are  admonislied,  in  our  history,  of  the  depravity  of  the  doc- 
trine which  .proposes  to  give  the  spoils  of  victory  to  the  victors.  Let  me 
take  you  to  the  scene  where  your  Lord  is  crucified,  and,  after  the  work 
is  done,  I  will  point  you  then  to  four  men,  not  the  most  worthy,  sitting 
down  to  parcel  out  the  garments  of  the  crucified  Saviour,  and  casting 
their  lots  for  the  seamless  robe  he  wore.  These,  too,  were  receivers  of 
the  spoils.  Now,  this  doctrine  which  projioses  to  give  the  spoils  to  the 
victors  has  been  imputed  mostly  to  one  of  our  political  parties,  and,  as 
some  suppose,  has  been  avowed  by  that  jDarty.  Of  this  I  am  willing  to 
doubt.  .  .  .  We  shall  see,  perhaps,  how  far  the  opposing  party  will  abjure 
this  doctrine  of  the  spoils,  and  whether  it  is  not  yet  to  be  the  univer- 
sal doctrine  of  politics  in  the  land.  If  so,  then  shall  we  have  a  scene  in 
this  land  never  before  exhibited  on  earth, — one  which  would  destroy  the 
integrity  and  sink  the  morality  of  a  nation  of  angels.  It  will  be  as  if  so 
many  offices,  worth  so  much,  together  with  the  seamless  robe  of  our  glo- 
rious Constitution,  were  held  up  to  be  the  price* of  victory,  and  as  if  it 
were  said, '  Look,  ye  peojile,  here  is  a  pi'emium  offered  to  every  discon- 
tent you  can  raise,  every  combination  or  faction  you  can  mention,  every 
lie  you  can  invent.  Cupidity  here  is  every  man's  right ;  try  for  what 
you  can,  and  as  much  as  you  can  get  you  shall  have.'  .  .  .  Only  conceive 
such  a  lure  held  out  to  this  great  people,  and  all  the  little  otfices  of  the 
government  thus  set  up  for  the  price  of  the  victory,  without  regard  to 
merit,  or  anything  but  party  services,  and  you  have  a  spectacle  of  base- 


CALL  TO  MIDDLEBUKY  COLLEGE.  95 

ness  and  rapacity  such  as  was  never  seen  before.  No  preaching  of  the 
Gosijcl  in  our  hxnd,  no  parental  discipline,  no  schools,  not  all  the  ma- 
chinery of  virtue  together,  can  long  be  a  match  for  the  corrupting  power 
of  our  political  strifes  actuated  by  such  a  law  as  this.  It  would  make 
us  a  nation  of  apostates  at  the  foot  of  Sinai." 

Ill  the  spring  of  1840,  lie  received  an  invitation  to  become 
the  President  of  Middlebury  College.  There  were  some  rea- 
sons why,  just  at  this  time,  the  opportunity  seemed  a  good 
one,  and,  although  most  strongly  attached  to  his  own  people, 
he  found  it  difficult  to  decide  his  duty  in  the  matter.  The 
recent  failure  in  his  health,  complicated  by  the  uncertainties 
which  arose  from  newly  developed  opinions,  gave  a  feeling 
of  instability  to  all  circumstances,  either  those  in  which  he 
now  found  himself,  or  others  wdiicli  he  might  choose.  The 
letter  to  his  wife  which  follows  was  written  on  the  way  to 
Middlebury  to  look  over  the  ground : — 

Brandon,  March  20, 1840. 
You  see  by  my  inscription  that  I  have  not  yet  reached  my 
place  of  destination.  I  am  now  seventeen  miles  distant,  and 
I  shall  have  to  travel  pretty  much  all  night  to  reach  my 
goal.  I  reached  Rutland,  thirty-two  miles  off,  on  Wednes- 
day evening,  at  half-past  ten  o'clock,  in  a  little  lumber-box, 
one-horse  wagon  for  a  stage.  Mr.  P ,  a  member  of  the  cor- 
poration, sent  me  on  from  Rutland  to  Mr.  C 's,  in  Pitts- 
ford,  in  the  afternoon,  to  await  the  stage,  which  did  not  arrive 
till  the  evening.  About  ten  o'clock,  Thursday  evening,  it  came 
on, — an  open  wagon,  in  the  most  drenching  storm  you  could 

wish.     I  declined  the  honor  of  a  seat.     Mr.  C brought 

me  on  to-day,  eight  miles  to  Brandon,  where  I  am  waiting  for 
the  said  open  wagon  again,  with  a  fine  prospect  of  a  storm. 
I  must  go  now,  rain  or  shine.  I  think  of  you  much  and  often, 
my  dear  wife,  and  the  more  tenderly  that  your  fortunes  may 
possibly  be  so  much  tried  in  the  matter  I  have  on  hand.  On 
setting  off  from  Hartford,  the  thought  of  you  in  this  matter 
took  possession  of  me,  and  I  could  not  get  free  of  it  all  day. 
It  seemed  almost  like  a  half-cruel  errand  on  which  I  was  go- 
ing, and  not  the  less  so,  that  I  knew  you  to  be  so  willing  to 


96  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

have  me  do  as  my  duty  should  direct.  ...  I  hope  our  dear 
boy  is  not  sick,  though  I  think  of  him  with  constant 
anxiety, — anxiety  which  is  quite  as  mucli  concern  for  you, 
however,  as  for  him.  I  hope  for  the  best,  of  course.  Now, 
a  word  to  L. 

Deak  L., — I  told  you  that  I  would  write  you  a  letter,  or  a 
part  of  one.  I  have  been  looking  out  on  the  way  to  see  if  I 
could  find  any  little  L.,  and  I  have  seen  only  one  that  was  at 
all  like  you.  I  did  see  one  little  girl-face  at  the  window  that 
was  so  like  you  that  I  really  wanted  to  kiss  her ;  but  I  con- 
cluded not  to  stop  the  stage  for  it,  and  perhaps  she  would 
not  have  been  willing  if  I  had.  Besides,  it  was  not  you,  and 
it  would  have  done  me  no  good.  I  hope  you  are  as  good  as 
you  know  how  to  be,  and  that  is  very  good  indeed.  I  hope 
you  will  pray  for  your  papa  that  God  will  keep  him  safe  and 
show  him  what  is  his  duty.     So  good-night. 

Your  dear  papa,  H.  Bushnell. 

After  his  return,  he  wrote  to  his  wife  in  New  Haven : — 

Hartford,  April  14, 1840. 

My  dear  Mary, —  ...  I  found  an  invitation  in  the  of- 
fice to  go  to  New  York,  and  speak  for  the  Home  Mission 
Society  at  their  anniversary,  which  I  have  declined.  To-mor- 
row evening  I  have  to  deliver  my  lecture  at  Springfield.  I 
have  to  attend  the  temperance  meeting  this  evening,  to  write 
a  fast-day  sermon,  to  answer  Middlebury,  to  prepare  for  the 
Sabbath,  etc.,  etc.  So  you  must  not  expect  me  to  die  from 
loneliness  this  week. 

I  discovered,  after  I  reached  home,  that  this  is  my  birthday. 
Thirty-eight  years  old  1  Alas !  alas !  What  have  I  done  in 
these  thirty -eight  years  but  grow  old?  What  good  have  I 
done?  Probably  I  shall  never  see  thirty-eight  years  more. 
Would  that  the  years  which  remain,  be  they  many  or  few, 
might  be  given  all  to  my  Master,  and  that  I  might  not  be 
compelled  to  blush  at  the  judgment-seat  if  he  should  say, 
"Well  done." 


BUILDING   A  NEW  HOUSE.  97 

Oh  that  this  case  were  decided,  and  rightly !  I  am  sure 
if  I  knew  what  my  duty  was,  I  would  take  it. 

I  thank  you,  my  beloved  wife,  for  the  considerateness,  and, 
as  I  think,  true-hearted  interest,  you  have  taken  in  this  mat- 
ter,— your  readiness  to  hear  evidence,  to  yield  yourself  to  my 
duty,  and  sacrifice  even  objects  very  dear  to  you,  for  no  bet- 
ter reason  than  the  advancement  of  my  mind  and  my  studies. 
It  has  brought  the  tears  into  my  eyes  more  than  once,  when 
alone,  to  think  on  your  truly  devoted  spirit.  Love  to  the 
children.  Your  husband,  H.  Bushnell. 

He  at  last  decided  to  decline  the  offered  position  at  Mid- 
dlebury  and  to  remain  in  Hartford.  He  went  on,  the  same 
year,  to  settle  himself  more  to  his  mind  in  a  new  house,  again 
one  of  his  own  planning  and  building.  He  was  ridiculed  for 
his  choice  of  a  site  "  in  the  fields,"  as  people  said,  and  on  a 
street  as  yet  unopened,  and  which  he  himself  christened  Win- 
throp  Street.  The  situation  commanded  a  fine  view  of  the 
Connecticut  River  and  valley ;  and  the  fields,  then  unbroken 
in  their  verdure  by  the  presence  of  a  single  building,  made  a 
delightful  playground  for  the  children.  His  own  study  win- 
dow looked  eastward,  and  gave  him,  while  at  his  work,  the 
refreshment  and  inspiration  of  a  lovely  prospect.  Here  he 
lived  till  the  day  of  his  death,  and  here  his  family  still  linger. 


98  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 


CHAPTER  yil. 

18-11-1845. 

DEGREE  OF  D.D.  — SECOND  COMING. —LECTURE  AT  HUDSON.— 
DEATH  OF  HIS  SON.  —  PROTESTANT  LEAGUE.  —  CATHOLICUS. 
—  PUBLISHED  ARTICLES  AND  ADDRESSES.  —  LETTERS.  —  ILL- 
HEALTH. 

The  degree  of  Doctor  of  Divinity  was  conferred  upon  Hor- 
ace Bushnell,  about  this  time,  by  the  Wesleyan  College  at 
Middletown,  Conn.,  and  would  probably  have  been  declined  if 
it  had  come  from  an  older  college,  as  he  did  not  highly  value 
either  the  title  of  Doctor  or  the  significance  of  the  degree. 
But  he  could  not  without  discourtesy  refuse  the  offered  honor 
from  an  institution  in  its  youth,  and  struggling  for  a  place 
among  other  colleges.  The  same  degree  was  afterwards  be- 
stowed by  Harvard,  and,  toward  the  very  close  of  his  hfe,  the 
degree  of  LL.D.  by  his  Alma  Mater,  Yale. 

In  the  following  fragment  of  a  letter  to  his  wife,  written 
from  Plymouth,  Conn.,  in  September,  1841,  we  have  his  re- 
vived impressions  of  his  native  Litchfield  County: 

"As  for  myself,  I  am  able  to  tell  you  that  I  begin  to  enjoy 
these  country  scenes  with  a  fresh  relish.  Saturday  afternoon 
I  set  off  from  Mr.  Lyman's  on  foot,  and  scoured  two  of  the 
mountains  south  of  the  town  all  over.  The  scenery  from  their 
tops  and  sides  was  truly  delightful.  It  has  a  natural  and  yet 
a  new  look  to  me — natural  because  memory  and  old  associa- 
tions give  it  a  color,  new  because  I  see  it  with  more  cultivated 
eyes,  and  am  able  to  relish  it  with  a  more  earnest  feeling. 
On  both  accounts  it  was  one  of  the  most  delightful  after- 
noons I  ever  spent.  I  never  had  my  heart  more  crowded  with 
feelino-.  I  was  like  a  boy  who  had  been  absent  a  long  time 
and  now  returned   to  his    old  home,  where   they  all  come 


THE  SECOND  COMING.  99 

round,  exclaiming, '  How  he  has  grown  !'  It  was  only  Nature 
that  told  me  I  had  grown,  and  she  seemed  to  do  it  in  such  a 
motherly  way  that  I  felt  myself  her  son  more  certainly  than 
ever.  You  see  how  it  goes.  If  I  should  return  to  you  a  poet, 
you  need  not  wonder.  I  do  think  that  this  visit  to  the  old 
scene  of  my  childhood  and  youth  will  do  more  to  bless  me, 
to  revive,  emancipate,  and  refresh  my  feelings,  than  any  travel 
among  new  scenes  and  wonders  that  I  could  have  chosen.  I 
am  really  thankful  that  my  mind  was  turned  in  this  direction. 
Exactly  how  and  where  I  am  going  I  do  not  know." 

A  kind  old  friend  and  parishioner  wrote  him  a  letter  of 
gentle  admonition,  and  pleaded  with  him  to  give  attention  to 
the  doctrine  of  the  Second  Coming,  which  she  had  much  at 

heart.     He  replied  as  follows : 

Hartford,  July  13, 1842. 

My  deak  Mrs.  B , — I  have  read  your  letter,  and  before 

God  I  thank  you  for  it.  I  regard  it  not  with  oifence,  but 
rather  as  the  strongest  proof  of  friendship  you  could  give  me. 
I  am  afraid  I  have  not  another  friend  among  all  my  people 
who  would  undertake  thus  to  warn  me  and  reprove  me.  I 
think  I  see  that  it  costs  you  a  great  struggle  to  do  it,  and  I 
make  no  doubt  that  you  are  somehow  instructed  or  moved  of 
the  Spirit.  Your  letter  shows  me  that  you  do  earnestly  pray 
for  me.  Would  that  I  could  think  as  much  of  all,  or  even 
a  considerable  number,  of  the  church !  I  hope  you  will  not 
be  discouraged,  or  desist,  if  your  prayers  do  not  result  as  you 
yourself  would  wish,  or  as  you  now  seem  to  expect.  I  cer- 
tainly think  that  I  have  a  "great  work  to  do  for  my  own 
soul  and  that  of  my  people,"  as  you  express  it ;  but  you  are 
greatly  mistaken,  I  think,  as  to  the  kind  of  work  I  have  to  do. 
I  felt  your  reproof  not  a  little  till  I  came  down  to  the  matter 
of  the  Second  Coming,  which  to  you,  I  perceive,  is  the  great 
burden  of  it.  But  it  would  be  very  difficult  for  me  to  take 
what  you  have  to  say  to  my  conscience.  You  ask  of  me  to 
examine  the  Bible  on  this  subject.  Why,  my  dear  woman,  I 
have  done  it,  with  greater  care  and  with  a  more  steady  dispo- 
sition to  submit  my  mind  to  evidence,  I  am  confident,  than 
God  ever  vouchsafed  me  in  anything  else,  and  I  am  as  cer- 


100  LIFE   OF   HORACE   BUSHNELL. 

tain  as  I  can  be  that  what  you  believe  so  earnestly  is  all  a  de- 
lusion. Nor  am  I  quite  able  to  believe  that  I  have  not  en- 
joyed some  advantages  in  this  examination  that  you  have 
wanted.  I  cannot,  therefore,  take  up  the  question  as  you 
request  of  me.  I  have  no  time  to  spend  in  a  work  so  un- 
profitable, and  in  regard  to  which  I  am  so  well  settled  in  my 
opinion. 

What  then  ?  Are  you  deceived  in  regard  to  your  prayers 
and  the  dealings  of  God  with  you  in  them?  I  will  say  for 
your  comfort  that  you  may  be  in  a  mistake  as  to  the  precise 
meaning  of  the  Spirit  in  his  dealings  with  you.  He  may  in- 
tend that  you  shall  do  me  great  good  in  some  other  respect 
than  the  one  which  seems  to  fill  your  mind,  and  that  I,  in 
turn,  shall  do  you  good  by  clearing  your  mind  of  an  unprofit- 
able delusion.  Let  me  ask  you  to  read  the  first  article  of  the 
last  No.  of  the  Biblical  liepository,  which  I  think  will  give 
you  some  valuable  instruction.  God  may  intend  to  answer 
your  prayers,  he  may  have  testified  his  acceptance  of  them, 
but  the  answers  may  come  in  a  different  shape  from  what  you 
now  expect.  I  am  anxious  to  believe  that  they  will  be  an- 
swered, and  I  can  imagine  waj^s  enough  in  which  they  might 
do  me  a  great  deal  more  good  than  in  making  me  a  believer 
in  your  doctrine  of  a  Second  Coming.  So  pray  for  me  still 
and  ever,  and  do  not  interpose  your  new  faith  in  God's  way, 
so  as  to  hinder  your  prayers.  He  will  be  more  likely  to  hear 
you  if  you  do  not  prescribe  to  him.  I  shall  always  remember 
your  kindness  of  old  when  I  first  came  to  Hartford.  May 
the  Lord  ever  be  with  you,  in  the  sweetest  forms  of  his  grace ! 
Your  pastor,  H.  B. 

Another  letter,  written  the  next  year,  serves  to  give  the 
balance  of  his  thought  on  a  subject  which  is  rather  hastily 
dismissed  in  the  foregoing. 

To  3frs.  S . 

Hartford,March  20,1843. 
...  I  am  glad  to  see  that  you  keep  clear  of  any  allusion  to 
certain  visionary  and  flighty  notions  in  reference  to  the  de- 


THE   SECOND   COMING.  101 

striiction  of  the  world  about  this  time.  These  are  air-castles, 
which  no  argument  can  demolish.  The  question  you  raise, 
whether  the  world  is  to  he  generally  subdued  to  Clirist,  is  a 
sober  question  worthy  of  a  profound  attention,  and  I  wisli  it 
were  discussed  much  more  than  it  is.  .  .  .  You  think  there 
are  no  expressions  in  the  New  Testament  that  anticipate  a 
general  spread  of  the  Gospel.  Let  us  see.  Christ  teaches  his 
disciples  to  pray,  "  Thy  kingdom  come  ;  Thy  will  be  done  in 
earth,  as  it  is  in  heaven  ;"  which,  to  say  the  least,  discloses  a 
hope  that  his  kingdom  is  to  come  in  a  very  general,  if  not 
universal,  spread.  Else,  why  teach  us  to  pray  thus?  Why 
encourage  us  to  pray  for  a  thing  not  to  be  hoped  for?  Then, 
again,  he  commanded  his  followers  "  to  preach  the  Gospel  to 
every  creature,"  which  looks  as  though  he  expected  a  general 
triumph  of  his  cause  in  the  earth.  He  compared  the  Gospel 
to  a  mustard-seed,  and  also  to  "leaven  that  should  work  till 
the  whole  was  leavened."  He  declared  that  his  angels  (which 
means  his  ministers  and  missionaries)  "  should  go  forth  with  a 
great  sound  of  a  trumpet,  and  gather  his  elect  from  the  utter- 
most parts  of  the  earth."  All  of  which  is  the  high-wrought 
phraseology  of  prophecy  to  denote  the  spread  of  his  Gospel. 
He  declared  that  his  coming  should  not  be  here  or  there,  not 
visible,  but,  like  the  lightning,  glancing  from  one  end  of  the 
world  to  the  other.  You  ai'gue  from  the  silence  of  Paul  that 
he  had  no  expectation  of  a  general  triumph  of  the  Gospel. 
But  Paul  was  not  silent.  He  says  that  the  Jews  are  finally  to 
be  brought  back  from  their  apostasy  after  the  fulness  of  the 
Gentiles  is  come  in.  See  the  whole  of  Romans  xi.  He  de- 
clares that  "  Christ  must  reign  till  he  hath  put  all  enemies 
under  his  feet;"  —  that  God  has  "purposed  in  the  fulness  of 
time  to  gather  together  in  one  all  things  in  Christ."  He 
quotes  Isaiah,  and  says,  "All  shall  know  me,  from  the  least  to 
the  greatest."  The  very  passage  to  which  you  refer,  in  Sec- 
ond Thessalonians,  proves  against  you, — -"Whom  the  Lord 
shall  consume  with  the  spirit  of  his  mouth,  and  destroy  with 
the  brightness  of  his  coming."  The  true  idea  is  that  the  Man 
of  Sin  is  to  be  destroyed,  or  have  his  empire  demolished,  by 
the  power  of  Christian  truth  and  by  the  glorious  brightness 


102  LIFE   OF   HORACE   BUSIINELL. 

and  effulgence  of  the  Sun  of  Righteousness,  On  the  whole,  I 
think  you  may  cease  to  feel  that  the  New  Testament  is  si- 
lent in  reference  to  the  spread  and  universal  victory  of  the 
Gospel. 

Add  to  the  above, — 1.  That  the  spirit  of  the  Gospel  is  uni- 
versal love,  and  that  it  seems  in  its  very  nature  to  reach  after 
all  nations ;  2.  That  up  to  this  time  there  has  been  a  general 
progress,  even  from  the  beginning ;  and,  3.  That  things  now 
indicate  a  great  and  blessed  change :  the  world  is  just  now 
laid  open,  the  dark  places  just  begin  to  see  light ;  and  the 
arts,  and  inventions,  and  political  doctrines  of  liberty  in  the 
world,  all  coming  to  maturity  in  these  last  days,  indicate  a 
good  day  for  the  world.  Things  prophesy  as  truly  as  the 
Word,  and  we  must  put  all  God  gives  us  together. 

In  February,  1842,  he  went  on  a  little  lecturing  tour  to 
Bridgeport,  Brooklyn,  New  York,  and  Norwich.  The  next 
summer  he  was  invited  to  deliver  a  Commencement  address 
at  the  college  in  Hudson,  Ohio,  and  gave  for  his  piece,  as  he 
modestly  calls  it,  an  address  on  the  "  Stability  of  Change." 
It  is  with  reluctance  that  we  suppress,  for  want  of  space,  se- 
lections from  this  yet  unpublished  address.  The  thought  is 
fresh  and  stirring,  the  language  fluent,  brilliant,  and  eloquent 
in  a  ver}^  high  degree.  It  is  a  little  singular  that  this  prose 
poem  was  never  revised  and  given  to  the  world.  The  two 
letters  here  given  were  written  on  tlie  journey. 

Hudson,  Ohio,  August  8, 1842. 
My  dear  Wife, — You  perceive  by  my  superscription  that 
I  am  safe  at  the  end  of  my  journey.  I  arrived  here  a  little 
after  twelve  o'clock  Saturday  night,  very  uncomfortably  dust- 
ed, long-bearded,  and  tired.  I  preached  once  yesterday  ;  and 
this  morning  I  am  going  to  work  to  see  if  I  can  reconstruct 
some  parts  of  my  piece,  first  writing  you  a  few  words,  in 
greater  haste  than  I  meant  to  suffer,  that  I  may  let  you  know 
of  my  safe  arrival.  ...  I  am  very  much  pleased  with  what 
I  see  in  the  institution  here,  and  especially  with  the  spirit  and 
character  of  the  professors.     But  the  country !     Only  think 


LETTERS  FROM  HUDSON.  103 

of  a  country  that  has  no  horizon,  or  one  whose  horizon  is 
sunk,  gone  clown  out  of  sight,  so  that  you  seem  to  be  living 
on  a  shelf  that  slopes  down  to  an  edge  and  there  dro^DS !  No 
sweeping,  rounding  outline — no  distant  blue !  It  makes  me 
think,  almost  every  time  I  open  my  eyes,  of  that  sweet  back- 
window  and  of  the  eyes  that  may  be  looking  out  of  it. 
Would  I  could  be  there  too  for  an  hour,  enjoying  both  the 
sight  and  the  seers, — my  own  sweet,  blessed  home  !  Never 
did  I  seem  to  see  so  feelingly  that  our  own  house  and  home 
is  the  place  for  us,  and  that  God  is  specially  to  be  thanked  for 
its  comfort  and  its  sweet  enjoyments.  I  hope  the  dear  chil- 
dren are  well  and  happy.  Kiss  them  all  for  me  over  and  over 
again,  and  kiss  them,  too,  not  only  for  their  own  but  for  their 
mother's  sake.  I  wish  my  letter  Avere  a  much  better  one. 
But  you  will  make  it  good  by  your  allowance,  and  by  your 
wish  to  have  me  take  my  time  for  preparing  to  be  your  hus- 
band with  honor. 

Brockport,  August  16, 1842. 

I  write  you  now  from  the  public  hotel  of  this  place,  some- 
where between  half-past  eleven  p.m.  and  two  to  three  a.m.  I 
am  here  waiting  for  the  night  line  of  canal-boat  to  Roches- 
ter. The  secret  of  the  matter  is  this :  I  learned  on  Lake  Erie, 
when  returning  last  Friday  night,  that  the  Auburn  Theologi- 
cal Seminary  holds  its  anniversary  on  Tuesday  and  Wednes- 
day,—  i.e.,  to-morrow  and  the  day  after.  Mr.  Badger,  of  the 
Home  Missionary  Society,  urged  me  to  go  on  and  be  there, 
and  I  felt  that  it  would  be  a  great,  though  unexpected,  pleas- 
ure.    Accordingly,  I  hastened  on,  stayed  with  S over 

Sunday,  came  over  here,  and  made  a  visit  yesterday  at  fa- 
ther's, and  am  now  laying  my  course  for  Auburn,  in  the  best 
way  at  command,  after  spending  the  day  here.  ...  I  had  a 
very  pleasant  time,  indeed,  at  Hudson,  partly  because  I  seem 
to  have  excited  more  interest  than  I  anticipated.  My  address 
went  off ,  I  think,  very  w'ell, — it  was  considerably  improved 
by  what  I  had  done  to  it  since  leaving  home.  Then,  the  next 
day, — Commencement, — after  the  exercises,  they  invited  me 
to  give  my  "  Life  "  lecture.  It  w^as  a  somewhat  hazardous 
thing  to  comply,  but  I  never  spoke  to  a  more  eagerly  atten- 


101  LIFE   OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

tive  audience.  Quite  to  my  surprise,  I  am  nearly  convinced 
of  one  thing,  viz.,  that  my  peculiarities  of  thinking  and  style, 
etc.,  vrould  go  down  much  better  at  the  West  than  at  the 
East,  and  partly  because  they  are  offended  by  nothing  new, 
glued  to  no  habits  of  thinking  or  not  thinking,  but  ready  to 
catch  with  eagerness  at  everything  which  seems  to  be  true. 
In  a  word,  they  are  all  alive  in  this  region.  I  found,  too,  at 
the  Commencement,  more  Connecticut  people  than  I  should 
have  seen  at  Yale, — more,  at  least,  that  I  knew.  The  Western 
Reserve  is,  in  fact,  a  kind  of  garden  at  the  West,  a  most  glo- 
rious exhibition  of  what  it  is  to  be  born  of  a  Xew  England 
stock.  AVhen  I  saw  the  houses,  farms,  churches,  school-houses, 
etc.,  it  was  a  picture  of  New  England  over  again.  I  was  at 
home  in  all  but  the  face  of  the  country,  and  the  perfect  dis- 
similarity of  that  made  the  moral  identity  tlie  more  striking. 
It  made  the  old  poet's  declaration  true  of  society  as  well  as  of 
the  individual, — "  they  who  pass  the  sea  do  not  change  their 
mind."  .  .  . 

I  should  love,  in  this  quiet,  soft  hour,  to  creep  in  upon  the 
repose  of  the  children,  and  go  round  from  face  to  face  as  a 
night-elf,  lighting  softly  on  their  lips  and  stealing  the  kisses. 
You  should  wake  in  the  pleasant  morning,  and  should  not 
know  what  makes  you  all  so  happy, — the  gentle  half-dream  I 
might  stir  in  your  heads, — stir,  but  not  enough  to  make  you 
recall  it.  Take  care  now,  all  of  you, — L ,  the  little  wheel- 
barrow gentleman,  and  the  tiny -voiced  lady  that  shouts 
"Papa"  so  musically, — one  and  all,  take  care,  lest  one  of  these 
nights  there  should  be  a  thief  among  you.  Cover  your  bless- 
ed faces,  lest  the  night-bee  should  come  without  a  buzz,  feel- 
ing the  flowers  all  over  with  his  honey -tube,  and  robbing 
them  when  they  do  not  know  it.  Stop  the  key-holes,  bar  the 
shutters,  and  burn  a  good  strong  light,  for  light,  they  tell  us, 
is  the  o-reatest  terror  of  thieves  in  the  world. 

I  hope  that  I  shall  be  able  to  return  in  good  healtli  and 
spirits,  and  I  know  that  I  shall  return  with  a  new  opinion  of 
ray  own  sweet  home,  to  embrace  you  all  with  a  new  fondness. 
There  is  something  exceedingly  sweet  in  these  temporary  ab- 
sences.    They  renew  the  relish  of  our  affections,  and  make  us 


LOSS  OF  HIS  SpX.  105 

conscious  of  tliem.  Love  is  like  music.  Heard  all  the  while, 
it  becomes  a  mere  noise ;  but  when  the  noise  ceases  to  be 
heard — when  the  car  listens  for  it  in  a  distant  land  of  stran- 
gers and  cannot  catch  the  sound, — then  does  it  think  the  old 
noise  music  again.     Kiss  the  children, — farewell. 

Your  husband,  H.  B. 

During  this  absence  his  little  bo}',  whose  health  had  long 
been  a  source  of  anxiety,  developed  alarming  symptoms  of 
brain-disease,  and  after  the  father's  return  he  faded  rapidly, 
and  died  on  the  9th  of  October.  The  child  had  been  remark- 
ably good  and  lovely,  with  a  spiritual  nature,  doubtless  pre- 
maturely developed  under  the  approach  of  disease,  but,  not 
the  less,  of  an  angelic  sweetness.  On  the  only  son  the  father 
had  staked  his  manly  hopes,  and  the  loss  and  disappointment 
was  one  that  sorely  sti-ained  his  heart,  ^nd  thrilled  with 
strong  vibrations  every  chord  of  his  spiritual  being.  It  was 
a  heavy  blow,  never  to  be  forgotten, — one  which  influenced 
his  whole  future  life  and  character.  His  thouo-hts  beo:an  at 
once  to  push  on  eagerly  into  the  unknowm,  and  he  w^rote 
sevei-al  sermons  on  the  "  Life  of  Heaven."  When,  a  year  or 
two  after,  he  went  into  the  country  to  preach  for  an  old 
friend,  the  latter  noticed  an  increased  fervor  in  his  preaching, 
and  in  intimate  talk  perhaps  alluded  to  it,  when  he  said,  ear- 
nestly, "  I  have  learned  more  of  experimental  religion  since 
my  little  boy  died  than  in  all  my  life  before." 

We  have  a  recent  letter  from  the  Rev.  Dr.  O.  E.  Daeorett, 
who  with  words  of  consolation  mingled  these  tender  recollec- 
tions :  "  My  thoughts  have  run  back  over  many  jears  to  in- 
tercourse and  incidents  that  permitted  me  to  know  him  as  not 
many  could, — to  know  him  so  personally  that  I  read  what  he 
wrote  w^ith  the  accompaniment  of  his  tones  and  movements, 
and  in  the  light  of  his  eye, — to  know  him  in  his  insight,  and 
magnanimity,  and  tenderness,  and  be  familiar  with  his  wel- 
come. Young  as  I  was  in  the  ministry  at  Hartford,  and 
younger  than  he,  too,  in  years,  I  have  often  remembered  his 
cordial  encouragement,  and  the  appreciation,  which  a  stran- 
ger might  not  have  expected  him  to  give  so  readily.     His 


106  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

friendsliip  has  been  one  of  tlie  privileges  of  my  life  and  min- 
istry. ...  I  remember  that,  in  an  evening  sermon  soon  af- 
ter the  death  of  his  little  son,  in  speaking  of  heaven,  he  said, 
'Have  not  I  a  harper  there?'  He  has  now  himself  enriched 
that  world,  to  those  who  are  left  to  think  and  speak  of  him 
as  gone  thither." 

In  the  spring  of  1843  he  became  interested  in  the  "Prot- 
estant League,"  which  afterwards  took  shape  in  the  "  Chris- 
tian Alliance."  To  his  wife,  absent  in  New  Haven,  he  wrote 
thus  of  the  formation  of  the  society : — 

"  Mr.  Albinola,  an  Italian  gentleman,  whose  name  I  think 
you  have  heard,  came  here  on  Saturday  to  move  his  Italian 
society.  I  think  he  is  the  finest-looking  man  I  ever  met, 
especially  when  excited  in  conversation.  He  has  taken  up  a 
good  deal  of  my  time,  and  I  now  have  it  on  hand  to  prepare 
a  report,  etc.,  for  a  public  meeting  of  citizens,  in  which  I  am 
going  to  recommend,  not  a  '  Philo-Italian  Society '  but  a  Prot- 
estant League,  the  object  of  w^hicli  shall  be,  avowedly,  to 
move  on  Pome  itself,  and  to  overthrow  the  Papacy.  .  .  .  My 
'Connecticut'  comes  on  poorly.  I  have  done  nothing  to  it. 
Between  designing  a  communion  table,  and  laying  pave- 
ment, and  preparing  candidates  for  the  church,  etc.,  etc.,  the 
time  has  gone,  and  left  me  no  minute  to  spare.  I  shall  soon 
have  my  hands  full  in  the  garden.  I  told  you  that  solitude 
had  scarcely  a  chance  to  come  at  me.  At  the  table  I  meet 
the  gray  sister,  of  course."  A  few  days  later  he  wrote  again, 
— "  Our  Protestant  League  has  not  gone  far.  I  drew  up  a 
report  as  long  as  a  sermon,  and  costing  me  twice  the  labor  of 
a  sermon.  But  when  the  friends  came  together,  timid  coun- 
sels prevailed.  They,  however,  requested  me  to  transmit  the 
Report  to  the  Philo-Italian  Society,  as  a  suggestion  to  be 
weighed  by  them.  I  claim  in  the  Peport  that  Pome  is  weak- 
er at  Pome  than  at  Cincinnati, — that  we  can  unite  Protes- 
tants in  a  movement  to  complete  the  Peformation  in  Italy, 
when  they  could  not  be  united  in  a  movement  against  Po- 
manism  in  our  own  country.  I  also  went  into  a  considera- 
tion of  ways  and  means  for  operating  in  Italy."  The  Philo- 
Italian  Society  had  proposed  to  effect  their  object  through  the 


THE  PROTESTANT  LEAGUE.  107 

agency  of  Italians  themselves,  not  judging  it  wise  or,  indeed, 
practicable  to  employ  foreigners  in  sucli  work.  "  The  Chris- 
tian Alliance  "  became  the  title  of  the  society,  which  excited 
a  considerable  interest  throughout  the  country.  Dr.  Bushnell 
threw  himself  into  this  cause  with  his  wonted  enthusiasm, 
and,  during  a  period  of  three  or  four  years,  spoke  for  it  wher- 
ever he  had  opportunity, — in  Kew  York,  at  the  May  anniver- 
saries, in  '43  ;  and  in  Boston,  to  a  large  and  excited  audience, 
in  '46.  He  also  carried  it  through  Europe  with  him.  With 
memories  of  the  Eeformation  of  Luther,  freshened  by  a  new 
Protestant  Reformation  then  stirring  in  Germany,  the  pros- 
pects of  a  direct  attack  upon  the  Papacy  seemed  doubtless  less 
shadowy  and  unsubstantial  at  that  time  than  now,  when  the 
current  of  political  tendencies  has  swept  away  the  methods 
and  spirit  of  Luther. 

But  he  was  not  in  danger  of  working  obstructively  or  blind- 
ly. That  his  insight  into  the  principles  which  underlie  the 
history  of  human  society  was  clear,  is  shown  in  an  address  on 
the  "  Growth  of  Law,"  given  before  tlie  Alumni  of  Yale  Col- 
lege in  1843,  and  now  incorporated  in  the  book,  "  Work  and 
Play."  This  address  is  a  wide  and  philosophic  survey  of  the 
growth  of  the  moral  principle  out  of  the  purely  physical  ele- 
ments of  the  primitive  human  life,  and  a  hopeful  Christian 
augury  of  the  growth  yet  to  be  made  in  the  world's  progress. 
Enriched  by  abundant  citations  from  history  and  by  the 
analogies  of  natural  law,  and  abounding  in  high  strains  of 
thoughtful  eloquence,  it  is  certainly  a  remarkable  product  of 
an  education  and  experience  so  purely  provincial  as  his  had 
been.  It  must  be  remembered  that  our  great  philosophical 
writers  of  history  had  not  then  spoken,  and  that  the  study  of 
human  society  had  hardly  as  yet  become  a  science.  Although 
some  of  Dr.  Bushnell's  hearers  and  readers  followed  his  train 
of  thought  with  a  degree  of  sympathy,  there  were  not  want- 
ing many  minds  to  whom  it  seemed  a  flight  of  reason  too 
daring  to  be  either  safe  or  profitable.  To  this  class  belonged 
"  Catholicus,"  an  anonymous  reviewer,  who  came  out  with  a 
pamphlet,  "  Letter  to  Dr.  Bushnell,  on  the  Rationalistic,  So- 
cinian,  and  Infidel  tendency  of  certain  passages  in  his  address 


lOS  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

before  the  Alumni  of  Yale  College."  This  quaint  reviewer, 
whose  catholicity  appears  only  in  his  name,  considers  any 
theory  of  the  primitive  life  of  mankind  not  to  be  found  in 
the  book  of  Genesis  as  rank  infidelity,  and  objects  to  all  anal- 
ysis of  the  Scripture  narrative  from  an  outside  point  of  view. 
AVriters  like  "Catholicus"  make  good  mile -stones.  They 
serve  to  show  us  how  far  we  have  travelled. 

In  June,  1813,  he  was  in  Boston  with  the  great  multitude 
who  attended  the  Bunker  Hill  Celebration.  He  speaks  of  an 
evening  spent  with  Theodore  Parker,  when  they  "  went  over 
the  whole  ground  of  theology  together,"  and  of  Ripley,  wnth 
whom  he  walked  arm  in  arm  in  a  small  army  of  clergy,  in 
the  procession  that  moved  to  hear  Webster.  He  stood  near 
enough  to  AVebster  to  see  the  working  of  his  countenance, 
and  heard  the  whole  of  the  great  oration ;  but  of  the  oration 
he  has  nothing  to  say  beyond  sending  a  copy  of  it  to  his  wife 
that  she  may  judge  for  herself.  He  seems  to  have  been  more 
interested  in  the  great  orderly  crowd  than  in  the  speaker, 
though  he  was  at  all  times  an  admirer  of  Webster.  On  his 
return  home  he  wrote  of  the  same  visit  to  his  young  daugh- 
ter in  Kew  Haven  : — 

Hartford,  July  23,  1843. 

My  deab  Child, — I  have  been  meaning  for  a  long  time  to 
write  you  a  letter,  in  return  for  the  one  you  were  so  kind  as 
to  send  me,  but  I  have  been  so  full  of  business  since  I  came 
back  that  I  have  hardly  been  able  to  find  time  to  sleep.  I 
delight  to  hear  of  you  often,  as  I  do  through  your  friends, 
and  especially  to  hear  that  you  are  doing  so  w^ell  in  every  re- 
spect,— attending  earnestly  to  your  studies,  employing  your 
time  carefully,  and  doing  what  you  can  to  win  the  esteem  of 
your  good  friends  and  companions.  Which  do  you  think 
makes  parents  happiest, — to  hear  that  their  children  are  happy, 
or  that  they  inake  others  so  ?  to  hear  that  they  are  praised,  or 
that  they  are  good  ?  to  hear  that  they  excel  others,  or  make 
friends  of  them  ?  And  what  do  you  think  they  love  to  hear 
most  of  all? 

My  dear  child,  you  are  growing  up  into  a  woman  very  fast. 
I  have  a  great  desire  that  you  should  endeavor  to  make  your- 


PUBLISHED  ADDRESSES.  109 

self  the  best  and  loveliest  of  women,  to  have  a  wise  character, 
a  gentle  heart,  pure  and  simple  manners,  and,  in  a  word,  be 
such  that  everybody  will  be  your  friend. 

I  went,  you  know,  to  the  great  celebration  at  Bunker  Hill, 
and  there  I  saw  a  great  many  more  people  than  you  ever  saw 
or  thought  of.  It  was  a  very  noble  sight  to  see  so  many  peo- 
ple, and  not  see  a  bad-looking,  wicked  man  among  them.  I 
saw  a  great  many  thousand  little  girl  faces  there  too,  from 
every  window  and  balcony,  and  roof  and  door-stone,  all  glis- 
tening with  delight,  swinging  their  white  kerchiefs,  and  say- 
ing right  out,  by  their  joyful  looks,  that  they  thought  we  had 
the  best  country  in  the  world,  and  that  that  was  the  happiest 
day. 

Your  own  father,  Horace  Busiinell. 

The  year  1841  was  marked  by  several  publications.  One 
was  a  review  of  a  "Charge,"  by  Bishop  Brownell,  on  the  "Er- 
rors of  the  Times,"  which  Dr.  Bushnell  afterwards  sincerely 
regretted,  as  too  harsh  in  spirit  and  discourteous  in  manner. 
Other  published  articles  were :  "  The  Great  Time-keeper,"  in 
the  National  Preacher  ;  "  Taste  and  Fashion,"  and  "  Growth, 
not  Conquest,  the  true  Method  of  Christian  Progress,"  in  the 
New  Emjlander ;  and  a  sermon,  entitled  "Politics  under  the 
Law  of  God,"  which,  as  he  has  marked  upon  his  printed  cop}' , 
"made  a  breeze."  Delivered  as  a  Fast-day  sermon,  during  the 
Presidential  campaign  when  Henry  Clay  was  a  candidate,  it 
had  an  influence  so  decidedly  against  him  as  to  rouse  the  pro- 
tests of  the  Whig  hearers,  who  violently  opposed  its  publica- 
tion. The  following  sentence  they  considered  especially  of- 
fensive ;  and  when  the  sermon  was  published  by  the  author, 
who  remained  unshaken  by  the  clamor,  its  omission  was 
urged  by  some  of  liis  own  people  : — "  The  man"  who  was  fore- 
most in  that  transaction  (the  Missouri  Compromise),  who 
therein  took  upon  his  soul  the  sorrows  of  untold  millions  of 
bondsmen,  and  the  moral  desolation  of  the  fairest  portion  of 
the  globe,  the  nation  follows  with  its  warmest  plaudits  and 
the  promise  of  its  highest  honors."  When  published,  tlie  ob- 
jectionable sentence  was  found  accompanied  by  the  following 


110  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

note: — "It  will  be* seen  at  a  glance  that  I  am  not  assailing 
Mr.  Clay  as  a  candidate.  I  only  show  my  point,  viz.,  that  the 
moral  wrong  of  the  transaction  is  now  virtually  assented  to 
and  participated  in,  politically  speaking,  by  the  whole  nation. 
In  other  words,  it  is  a  national  sin.  We  are  accustomed  on 
Fast-days  to  speak  of  national  sins,  and  deplore  them  freely. 
And  if  our  nation  ever  was  guilty  of  a  sin,  it  w^as  so  in  this 
transaction.  I  have  a  right  to  speak  of  it,  and  show  how  far 
we  are  conformed  to  it  and  contaminated  by  it.  Further- 
more, if  my  object  had  been  to  injure  Mr.  Clay  as  a  candi- 
date, /  should  not  have  assailed  the  least  mdnevaljle  ])oint  in 
his  character.''''  Charles  L.  Brace,  in  a  letter  about  Dr.  Bush- 
n ell's  early  preaching,  says : — 

"Those  ■wlio  recall  those  years  will  remember  that  note, M-hich  pre- 
tended to  be  an  apology,  in  his  sermon,  on  voting  for  the  best  of  two 
bad  candidates,  wherein  he  struck  Mr.  Clay  such  a  blow  as  to  cost  him 
tens  of  thousands  of  votes  for  the  Presidency." 

The  sermon  was,  in  fact,  reprinted,  and  freely  circulated  as 
a  campaign  document  by  the  other  party. 

The  writings  noted  as  belonging  to  this  time  were  all,  it  will 
be  observed,  somewhat  related  to  outside  matters,  and  were 
the  outcome  of  a  bold  and  aggressive  spirit.  It  is,  therefore, 
interesting  to  find  that  a  sermon  on  the  "Insight  of  Love," 
from  the  text,  "She  hath  done  what  she  could," — one  of  the 
most  tender  and  spiritual  in  its  teachings  of  those  contained 
in  a  volume  published  twenty  years  later, — was  first  written  in 
this  same  year.  There  were  years  all  through  his  life  when  a 
high  tide  seemed  to  set  in  to  every  mental  inlet,  and  his  work 
in  all  directions  was  great.  This  1844  seems  to  have  been 
one  of  the  tide  years. 

Cabotville,  January  (Tuesday),  1844. 

My  dearest  Wife,  —  I  arrived  here  from  Boston  at  one 
o'clock  to-day.  .  .  .  Towne  is  safe.  He  began  on  the  Sabbath 
his  undertaking  to  build  up  a  new  church,  with  his  room 
filled  to  overflowing.  The  Puritan  of  last  week  had  an  ar- 
ticle from  some  ninny  of  Connecticut  endorsing  Catholicus, 
complaining,  too,  that  I  answered  C.  in  so  tart  a  manner.    Tlie 


LETTER  FROM  CABOTVILLE.  ,  111 

Christian  Register  (Unitarian)  had  also  a  column  and  a  half 
extracted  from  Catholicus,  to  intimate,  I  suppose,  tliat  I  might 
be  leaning  towards  Unitarianism,  though  connected  with  some 
remarks  that  evinced  a  sense  of  the  absurdity  of  such  crit- 
icism. So  you  see  that  I  met  myself  in  Boston  in  diverse 
shapes. 

Thus  much  for  the  news,  which  I  will  give  you  more  in 
particular  when  I  return  home  on  Friday.  I  have  had  no 
little  enjoyment  of  my  dear  wife  and  children  this  afternoon. 
Sitting  here  over  my  fire  alone,  with  nothing  to  do  and  my 
mind  at  ease,  my  heart  has  once  more  discovered  itself,  as  it 
were,  anew.  Oh,  this  rest,  this  unoccupied  day,  —  how  I  do 
long,  for  my  heart's  sake,  to  have  rest !  It  sweetens  my  fam- 
ily, makes  my  love  conscious,  makes  it  an  enjoyment,  and  I 
really  seem  to  live.  ISTever  did  I  realize  so  convincingly  the 
great' power  you  have  over  me,  and  how  necessary  you  are  to 
my  well-being.  I  am  sure,  too,  that  there  is  nothing  more 
beautiful,  and  more  to  be  envied  by  the  poets,  than  this  same 
charm  of  power  by  which  a  good  wife  detains  her  husband. 
It  is  not  an  ambitious,  noisy  power ;  it  is  silent,  calm,  persua- 
sive, and  often  so  deep  as  to  have  its  hold  deeper  than  con- 
sciousness itself.  She  does  not  take  him  away  from  the  rough 
world  and  its  drudgeries  —  does  not  make  him  less  than  a 
man,  but  still  he  will,  in  all  he  does,  be  her  man  ;  and  if  the 
rough  calls  of  duty  which  worry  him  give  way  for  a  time, 
then  he  discovers  that  she  is  still  presiding  over  his  happiness 
and,  as  a  very  small  helm,  guiding  his  way.  lie  is  proud  of 
her  without  knowing  it,  loves  her  when  he  is  too  weary  or  too 
much  bent  on  his  objects  to  be  conscious  of  his  love,  deposits 
his  soul  in  hers,  and  thinks  it  still  his  own.  She  ministers, 
and  yet  is  seldom  ministered  unto.  She  makes  his  future  and 
ascribes  it  to  himself. 

My  dear  wife,  you  wives  have  much  to  bear ;  but  is  it  no 
compensation  to  you  that  j^ou  bear  it  so  well, — that  you  ful- 
fil an  oflSce  so  disinterested,  so  beautiful  ?  We  hear  a  great 
deal  of  maids  wdio  are  angels,  but  to  me  the  truest  angels  on 
earth  are  the  good  wives.  I  hope  you  are  all  well,  and  that 
the  dear  children  are  as  affectionate  and  good  as  you  desire 


112  .    LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

them  to  be.    Kiss  them  for  me,  over  aud  over — even  as  many 

times  as  will  satisfy  L . 

Your  own  husband  forever,  H.  Bushnell. 

In  a  letter  from  Washington,  April  18,  1844,  he  says  :— 
"  This  is  a  most  wretched  and  contemptible  place.  IIow  sad 
that  anything  which  bears  the  name  of  Washington  should  be 
contemptible  !  and  especially  the  capital  of  his  country  !  Ev- 
ery man,  woman,  and  child  here  is  a  dependent  somehow  on 
the  Government, — an  office-holder  or  suitor  for  office,  an  eject- 
ed officer  pining  for  a  change  of  administration,  a  boarding- 
house  keeper,  a  keeper  of  the  public  grounds  and  buildings,  a 
page,  a  runner,  a  driver: — the  whole  concern,  buildings  and 
all,  have  the  shiftless,  half-made  look  of  servility  and  depend- 
ence. I  have  been  very  busy  here,  ever  since  I  came,  at  work 
at  my  statistics  and  listening  to  the  debates  in  the  two  Houses. 
I  heard  a  furious  debate  yesterday,  in  which  I  was  not  a  little 
pleased  to  see  that  there  is,  or  appears  to  be,  a  tendency  grow- 
in  o-  up  among  I^orthern  men  to  coalesce  and  turn  a  front 
against  slavery,  or,  at  least,  against  Southern  domination.  I 
find,  too,  privately,  that  there  is  a  feeling  of  stubbornness  tak- 
ing possession  of  ISTorthern  minds,  and  a  determination  to  be 
ridden  over  no  longer.  I  am  getting  acquainted  very  fast 
with  men,  and  faces,  and  affairs.  I  should  be  quite  a  poli- 
tician if  I  remained  here  long." 

In  February,  1845,  the  break-down  in  health,  threatened 
for  so  many  years,  actually  came.  He  was  prostrated  by  a 
fever,  which  was  followed  by  soreness  of  the  lungs  and  other 
bad  symptoms.  As  the  spring  advanced  he  gained  by  de- 
grees, and  speaks  in  a  letter  of  working  in  his  garden  and 
planning  to  preach.  At  this  time  his  salary  was  raised  by 
his  church  to  $1500.  His  wife,  also  in  very  poor  health, 
had  gone  away,  in  March,  for  a  little  rest,  and  he  writes 
cheerfully  of  the  children,  begging  her  to  remain  away  until 
she  is  better.  "Anything,"  he  says,  "is  well  enough  if  it 
is  temporary;  and  if  our  light  is  withdrawn  only  to  be  re- 
kindled, why,  the  darkness  even  will  answer  for  light."  In 
April,  however,  not  mending  as  fast  as  he  had  hoped,  he 


LETTER   FROM   NORTH   CAROLINA.  113 

went,  with  bis  friend  Dr.  Skinner,  of  New  York,  to  North 
Carolina. 

Etlcnton,  North  Curolina,  April  17,  1845. 

My  dearest  Wife, — You  will  get  this  a  day  later  than  I 
supposed,  for  it  takes  a  day  longer  to  make  the  journey  to 
this  place.  We  arrived  here  last  evening  about  nine  o'clock. 
And  it  is  a  new  world  indeed,  new  to  me  in  every  respect, — a 
country  extending  hundreds  of  miles  like  a  great  pancake, 
without  rising  in  any  place  more  than  twenty-live  feet  above 
the  level  of  tlie  sea,  and  most  of  the  way  not  ten  feet ;  rivers 
flowing  hundreds  of  miles  without  flowing  at  all  (as  in  true 
Irish,  I  may  say), — a  country  where  slavery  unmakes  the  at- 
tractiveness of  the  great  swamp  of  nature ;  a  country  where 
there  is  no  time,  or  sense  of  it,  or  measure  of  it ;  where  rail- 
roads and  steamboats  set  down  for  eight  o'clock  find  the 
hour  anywhere  between  eight  and  noon.  However,  it  is 
something  to  find  a  warmer  sun  and  a  sweeter  climate,  to 
hear  the  birds  filling  the  woods  and  trees  with  their  music, 
and  notice  the  flowers  loading  the  air  of  April  with  the  fra- 
grance of  June.  I  rejoice  to  say  that  the  heat  agrees  with  me 
right  well ;  my  pain  is  almost  wholly  gone.  I  am  sensible  of 
it  only  in  the  morning  before  rising,  and  then  but  slightly. 
I  think  I  shall  return  quite  well.  At  any  rate,  a  great  many 
sad  sentimentalisms  or  gloomy  forecastings  about  my  dear 
wife  and  children  are  quite  chased  away.     Often,  very  often, 

in  the  course  of  my  journey  hither,  though  Dr.  S w'as 

very  agreeable,  was  my  heart  oppressed,  sometimes  almost 
to  bursting,  by  the  thought  of  my  dear  family,— how  little  I 
had  done  for  them  wdiich  possibly  I  might,  what  must  be 
their  condition  if  my  health  was  indeed  finally  broken,  how 
I  could  leave  them  if  I  must  leave  the  world.  Such  thoughts 
haunted  me  all  the  way,  I  may  say,  till  I  began  to  have  some 
superstitious  feeling  about  them,  some  apprehensions  that 
they  were  connected  with  some  accident  or  fate  that  was 
about  to  end  me.  I  sighed,  I  prayed  mentally,  I  felt  my 
heart  rising  to  pour  out  its  tenderness.  In  short,  I  never 
travelled  in  such  a  mood  before, — realizing  at  once  my  Aveak- 
ness,  my  shattered  state,  as  never  in  my  whole  sickness ;  and 


114  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

the  deep  tenderness  of  my  love  to  yon,  its  strong  necessit}'-, 
its  inextinguishable  power,  as  never  before  in  ray  life.  I  look 
back  now,  and  see  how  far  a  strong  man  may  be  reduced  to- 
wards a  state  of  childhood.  I  probably  shall  return  to  IS'ew 
York  the  latter  part  of  week  after  next.  It  is  now  a  time 
of  dreadful  drought  here, — no  rain  for  seven  weeks.  But  a 
shower  begins  to  sprinkle  as  I  write..  The  whole  Dismal 
Swamp  region — thousands  of  square  miles — has  just  been 
overrun  by  a  terrible  fire.  Love  to  all  inquiring  friends.  A 
kiss  to  our  dear  children. 

Your  husband,  H.  B. 

On  his  returning,  still  far  from  well,  his  affectionate  people 
determined  to  send  him  to  Europe  for  a  year,  continuing  his 
salary  and  paying  his  expenses.  All  arrangements  completed, 
he  sailed  on  the  ship  Victoria  on  the  first  of  July,  1845. 


VOYAGE.  115 


CHAPTER  YIII. 

JOURNEY   IN   EUROPE. 

A  voluminous  journal,  foithfully  but  hastily  written  in  the  midst  of 
his  wayfarings,  is  the  record  of  this  foreign  journey.  The  folloAving  ex- 
tracts from  this  and  from  his  letters  ai'e  given,  not  with  the  jjuqiose  of 
leading  the  reader  in  a  continuous  line  of  travel  over  paths  since  then 
too  well  worn,  but  for  the  sake  of  showing  what  the  thronging  impres- 
sions of  such  a  journey  were  to  the  traveller  whose  mental  growth  had 
been  hitherto  of  necessity  much  from  within. 

On  one  of  the  Sundays  of  his  voyage  he  preached  a  sennon  written 
on  board  ship, — a  hasty  production,  but  one  so  full  of  life  and  beatity 
that  it  is  said  to  have  excited  the  greatest  interest  among  the  passen- 
gers. 

The  friendship  with  Captain  Morgan,  then  begun,  w\as  one  of  the  chief 
pleasures  of  the  voyage.  Dr.  Bushnell  shared  with  many  men  of  letters 
the  kindly  hospitalities  on  sea  and  shore  which  Captain  Morgan  delighted 
to  bestow,  and  which  have  caused  his  name  to  be  associated  with  the 
literature  of  his  time.  Among  the  passengers  was  Bayard  Taylor,  then 
a  young  writer  unknown  to  fame,  in  whose  evident,  though  undeclared, 
abilities  Horace  Bushnell  took  a  quick  interest.  The  jjleasant  acquaint- 
ance of  the  voyage  was  afterwards  kept  alive  by  Mr.  Taylor's  occasional 
visits. 

In  his  first  letter,  written  on  shipboard,  to  his  wife,  he  says  : — 

We  have  a  very  pleasant  company  of  passengers,  and  the 
captain  is  as  fine  a  fellow  as  I  ever  expect  to  see  anywhere. 
I  wish  I  could  give  you  any  impression  of  the  sea,  but  I  de- 
spair. Put  down  this  first  of  all,  that  you  can  never  see  the 
water  more  than  four  miles  distant.  The  heavens  make  a 
great  bowl  over  you,  and  you  go  on,  on,  on  under  the  bowl. 
In  the  night,  if  yon  go  on  deck  and  it  is  cloudy,  you  can  see 
nothing  save  the  ship  and  the  foam  around  it.  The  motion 
seems  more  rapid  by  far  than  it  is.     On  one  occasion  the  ship 


116  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHXELL. 

seemed  like  a  spirit  rushing  through  outer  darkness  and  dash- 
ing the  brimstone  fires  about  along  its  path.  In  a  bright  sun- 
shine nothing  can  exceed  the  life  and  brilliant  animation  of 
the  scene,  when  the  ^A'aves  are  tossing  into  crests  of  foam,  a 
whole  liquid  acre  in  each,  the  ship  throwing  up  her  head  into 
the  air,  then  plunging  down  the  other  side  of  a  billow ;  the 
water  colored  by  reflection  of  the  deep  unearthl}^  blue  of  the 
skj,  the  surface  gleaming  joyfully,  and  dancing  like  a  lively 
girl ;  and  a  solemn,  stately  roar  filling  the  whole  circumference 
of  nature,  like  an  anthem  rising  to  God  from  a  new-created 
world.  If,  having  your  direction  across  the  waves,  you  cast 
your  eye  forward  over  the  bow  of  the  ship  and  hold  it  there, 
so  as  not  to  bring  the  side- waters  into  view,  you  see,  of  course, 
only  the  side  of  the  waves  that  is  sliding  down  towards  you, 
and  you  seem  to  be  rushing  up  a  tremendous  river  that  is 
pouring  down  like  the  rapids  of  Niagara  upon  you.  The  im- 
pression is  awful  and  sublime  beyond  conception,  and  not  the 
less  so  that  you  seem  to  be  still  victorious,  pressing  up  and 
up  with  an  undiscouraged  power,  breasting  the  everlasting 
river  and  braving  its  tumult. 

Well,  here  I  am,  separated  by  three  fourths  the  width  of  an 
ocean  from  all  that  is  dear  to  me  on  earth — alone,  alone.  I 
go  out  at  the  sunsetting  and  early  evening,  and  hang  ray  legs 
over  the  stern  of  the  vessel,  and  sit  with  my  face  to  my  coun- 
try and  my  dear  wife  and  children,  with  how  many  and  strange 
thoughts  contesting  in  me.  AVhat  are  they  doing?  Their 
conversation  ?  Do  they  look  upon  this  moon  with  me  ?  Are 
they  sad  or  happy  ?  O  God,  all  is  known  to  Thee !  Thou  art 
our  common  bond  of  love,  our  preserver,  the  author  of  all  we 
have  enjoyed  in  our  earthly  union.    Keep  her,  keep  them  all ! 

To  the  Same. 

Bristol,  July  24, 1845. 

...  On  the  afternoon  of  the  19th  we  had  a  splendid  and 
exciting  scene.  I  was  in  my  berth,  just  falling  into  a  sleep, 
when  they  came  rattling  at  the  door  to  say  that  some  great 
ships  were  at  hand.  While  I  was  debating  whether  to  get 
up,  they  came  again,  crying  out,  "  A  fleet  of  war !''    I  went  on 


ENGLAND.  117 

deck,  and  it  was  indeed  a  splendid  sight,  as  the  ships  were 
rising  up  like  mountains  of  canvas,  the  sunlight  on  the  side 
towards   us,  and  rushing   down  before  the  wind  upon   us. 
Within  half  an  hour  we  were  in  the  very  midst  of  them,  sail- 
ing through  their  line.     The  fleet  consisted  of  ten  line-of-bat- 
tle  ships  of  the  largest  class,  including  a  steam-frigate.     To 
me  it  was  peculiarly  impressive,  because  it  was  the  first  dem- 
onstration of  England.     Drawing  near  her  coast  and  look- 
ing for  the  shore,  here  she  pours  the  volume  of  thunder  and 
power  by  which  she  has  ruled  the  sea  and  made  herself  great 
in  renown.     I  felt  the  scene  more  as  a  symbol  than  as  a  mere 
fact.    Its  import  was  its  sublimity.    On  Monday,  the  21st,  we 
were  boarded  by  a  pilot  oif  Lizard  Point.     Considering  that 
the  east  wind  at  this  season  is  likely  to  hold,  I,  with  eight 
other  passengers,  went  on  board  the  pilot-boat,  and  reached 
land  at  Falmouth  at  seven  o'clock,  about  nineteen  days  and 
three  quarters  from  Sandy  Hook.     As  we  neared  the  shore 
and  coasted  along  it,  I  was  impressed  with  a  new  feeling  by 
the  shore  itself — a  bold,  perpendicular  rock,  sometimes  rising 
into  a  turret  as  high  as  the  land  adjacent,  but  generally  meet- 
ing and  supporting  a  very  steep  declivity  of  land,  one  fourth 
or  half  the  way  up,  the  land  in  full  and  high  cultivation  down 
to  definite  lines  of  meeting  with  the  rock,  green  with  pasture 
(where  the  herds  must  needs  look  out,  or  they  will  slip  off 
the  wall  of  England  into  the  sea)  or  waving  with  wheat  and 
barley — all  of  which,  again,  was  a  fine  symbol  of  England,  an 
old  country,  cultivated  to  the  last  inch  of  land,  and  walled 
about  like  a  fortification  or  military  post  in  the  sea.  .  .  . 

IS'ext  day,  rode  on  the  royal  mail-coach,  in  less  than  ten 
honrs,  more  than  a  hundred  miles  on  the  gallop  and  the  run, 
up  and  down  long,  steep  hills  of  macadamized  road  to  Exeter. 
Here  I  saw  cultivation  contending  with  the  moors  that  cover 
the  high  hills,  vast  landscapes  of  rolling  field  in  high  produc- 
tion, where  it  is  so  bleak  that  not  a  tree  grows ;  the  mines  of 
tin,  iron,  and  copper  tearing  ont  the  bowels  of  the  earth  and 
building  mountains  of  rubbish ;  the  tall  ventilators  and  chim- 
neys crowning  the  hills  and  rising  in  the  valleys ;  yonder  a 
rock  rising. in  front  of  a  church  and  overtopping  it,  when  in 


118  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSIINELL. 

all  the  rolling  landscape  not  a  rock  or  stone  can  elsewhere  be 
seen ;  and  there,  on  a  conical  pile  shooting  np  into  the  clouds, 
a  church  built  by  a  mariner  as  the  fultilment  of  his  vow. 
Here,  in  Exeter,  I  spent  the  morning  of  yesterday  in  Kouge- 
mont  Castle  and  the  Cathedral.  The  Cathedral  is  a  grand 
old  structure  of  the  thirteenth  and  fourteenth  centuries.  It 
lias  the  grandest  organ  in  England.  I  was  there  at  the 
morning  service,  and  the  music,  rolling  over  the  screen  and 
through  those  long  sweeps  of  arch,  was  enough  to  make  an 
American  feel  all  over.  The  service  was  music  throughout, 
the  architecture  was  music.  I  came  av/ay,  and  brought  on 
here  a  cathedral  with  me.  But  somehow  I  lost  it  in  the 
night,  and  do  not  iind  myself  any  better  Christian  this  morn- 
ing than  I  was  yesterday.  I  attended  this  morning  the  Ca- 
thedral service  in  Bristol.  I  looked  into  the  choir,  and  saw 
there  an  old  negro,  only,  to  be  edified,  and  he  rolled  up  his 
eyes  at  me  with  a  kind  of  official  look,  as  if  all  the  religion 
belonged  to  him.  Doubtless  it  was  his  standing  business  to 
be  the  worshipper.  In  marched  a  troop  of  boys  in  white, 
two  priests,  vergers,  etc.,  and  the  service  began.  I  then  took 
a  peep  through  the  glass  of  the  door,  and  behold  the  boys, 
who  w^ere  chanting  away  at  the  Lord's  Prayer,  were  grinning 
at  each  other  as  if  it  was  all  a  joke. 

On  the  first  of  August  he  left  London  for  a  trip  through  Oxford  and 
other  places  of  note  to  Chester.  Of  Kenilworth  and  Coventry  he  wrote 
as  follows  to  his  wife's  mother,  whose  Davenport  ancestors  had  lived  in 
Coventry : 

Birmingham,  August  4, 1845. 

.  .  .  The  ruins  of  Kenilworth  I  will  not  undertake  to  de- 
scribe. They  cannot  be  described  so  as  to  give  you  the  feel- 
ing which  is  all  in  all.  What  tournaments  have  here  been 
celebrated  !  Here  was  the  tilt-yard,  here  the  prison,  here  the 
painted  Gothic  window  of  the  great  banqueting-hall.  There 
hung  the  clock  whose  hands  were  set  at  two,  the  banqueting- 
hour  w'hen  Queen  Bess  came  here  as  a  guest,  to  say  that  all 
the  time  was  banquet.  Here  were  siege,  and  war,  and  wassail, 
and  treachery,  and  treason.  Now  all  is  silent  but  the  swal- 
lows cliattering  in  the  ivy-clad  towers,  and  the  rain-storm  beat- 


COVENTRY.  119 

ing  and  dripping  on  a  stranger  from  a  new  world.  I  stopped 
at  Coventry  on  my  return,— old,  old,  old!  I  entered  two 
grand  old  cliurclies  to  look  for  the  Davenports,  but  ques- 
tioned the  sexton's  wife  in  vain.  Two  strangers  advised  me 
to  go  into  an  old  hall  adjacent  to  the  church.  I  found 
it  was  the  Town-hall,  called  St.  Mary's.  The  windows  are 
of  ancient  stained  glass,  with  the  names  of  old  mayors 
wrought  in,  in  black  letters.  In  the  end  of  the  hall  was  a 
fresco,  vastly  older  than  the  art  of  painting.  Some  workmen 
who  were  fitting  up  this  ]3lace  for  a  court  showed  me  a  door 
opening  into  the  Justices'  room.  I  entered,  found  it  hung 
with  portraits,  and  there,  behold,  between  Queen  Elizabeth  on 
one  side  and  James  I.  on  the  other,  was  Davenport — a  fine, 
sober,  stately -looking  man  in  a  scarlet  robe,  with  a  sash,  a 
ruff,  a  cap,  and  gloves  in  hand.  His  face  is  longer  than  old 
John's,*  with  a  great  deal  more  of  sentiment. 

We  must  not  tarry  over  his  descriptious  of  Oxford,  Warwiek,  and 
Chester,  though  he  deeply  felt  their  ancient  charm.  At  Liverpool  he 
took  steamer  for  Glasgow,  and  thus  had  a  glimpse  of  the  Scotch  coast. 
At  Glasgow, "  sick  at  heart  of  being  forever  a  stranger,"  he  presented 
letters,  but  was  singularly  unfortunate  in  finding  every  one  absent  or  in- 
different. He  was  therefore  glad  to  push  on  in  his  solitude  to  the  Lakes, 
where  he  found  Nature's  hospitalities  and  a  free  and  simple  society 
awaiting  him. 

Inversnaid,  Scotland,  August  10, 1845. 
My  dear  Wife, — Tt  will  require  a  little  of  geographical 
detail  to  tell  you  where  I  am.  Take  your  map,  follow  up 
Loch  Lomond  northward  till  you  come  to  a  point  against  the 
upper  extremity  of  Loch  Long,  a  salt-water  bay  connected 
with  the  Clyde.  I  am  on  the  right  hand  of  Loch  Lo- 
mond, at  a  point  about  four  miles  farther  up  than  the  one 
just  named,  where  tourists  cross  over  to -Loch  Katrine. 
I  am  in  a  snug  little  house,  the  only  one  in  sight  on  this 
shore  —  a  house  of  one  story,  in  a  little  seven -by -nine 
room  under  the  roof,  having  one  scuttle -window,  through 
which  I  look  out  on  the  lake  and  the  beautiful  scenery  of 


*  The  ancestor  of  the  American  branch  of  the  family. 
9 


120  LIFE  OF  HORACE   BUSIINELL. 

glen  and  mountain  on  the  opposite  shore.  Close  bj  the 
house,  a  cataract  leaps  down  among  tlie  rocks  from  one  shelf 
to  another  till  it  is  lost  in  the  lake.  This,  I  suppose,  once 
turned  a  mill,  for  the  place  is  called  Inversnaid  Mill, — the 
scene  is  that  of  Wordsworth's  "Highland  Girl."  A  mile 
distant  is  the  cave  of  Eob  Koy.  I  pass  to-morrow  climbing 
over  the  rocks  on  my  Shetland  pony,  five  miles  to  Loch  Ka- 
trine, the  original  residence  of  Rob  Roy,  and  the  hut  where 
Helen  Macgregor  was  born.  Read  the  "  Gathering  of  Clan 
Gregor"  and  the  song  of  Roderic  Dhu,  call  up  the  old  days 
of  black-mail,  the  scenes  of  feud  and  blood,  and  you  will  have 
the  historical  geography  of  the  place  at  least.  Xothing  can 
possibly  exceed  the  beauty,  the  natural  romance,  if  I  may  so 
speak,  of  this  same  Loch  Lomond.  The  bare,  green,  rock-rib- 
bed hills  piercing  the  sky  and  almost  tearing  it,  one  might 
fancy,  with  their  sharp,  jagged  outline ;  the  glens  opening 
between  the  peaks,  and  showing  one  platoon  of  mountains 
behind  another ;  the  cloud-shadows  floating  across  them,  and 
on  the  lake,  in  which  they  are  reflected ;  the  light  streaming 
down  aslant  the  irregular  face  of  one  hill,  while  another  is 
under  a  deep,  murky  shade,  bringing  out  the  golden  yellow 
from  the  greens  wherever  it  strikes,  and  showing  the  very 
line  of  the  pencil,  as  you  sometimes  see  it  in  the  clouds ;  the 
eternal  rock  played  with  and  upon  by  the  changing  hours, — 
if  this  be  not  beauty,  I  know  not  what  can  be.  Yes,  my  dear 
■wife,  and  it  is  society  too !  .  .  . 

I  came  up  the  lake,  of  course  in  a  rain,  for  it  rains  every 
day.  But  this  morning  the  weather  seemed  more  clear  than 
usual ;  and  there  has  been  no  time  since  I  landed  when  I  seemed 
to  have  so  much  feeling  of  society  as  when  I  looked  out  of 
my  little  scuttle-window  on  the  gorgeous  scene  of  light  and 
grandeur  before  me.  I  expected  to  spend  the  day  here,  and 
to  enjoy  it  too.  Indeed,  though  nobody  stops  here  longer 
than  for  a  night,  I  have  been  half  tempted  to  go  into  winter- 
quarters.  Knowing  that  there  was  no  church  in  the  region, 
I  designed  to  worship  in  the  templed  hills,  as  Jacob  did. 
But  I  noticed,  passing  down  before  the  door  after  breakfast, 
three  rustic  Highlanders, — two  men  and  a  woman, — dressed  in 


A  FREE  CHURCH  IN  SCOTLAND.  121 

their  Sunday  clothes,  manifestly ;  and  I  went  out  and  accost- 
ed them.    "  Well,  my  good  friends,  are  you  going  to  church'^'' 
"  Yes,"  said  the  old  lady  (for  such  I  will  call  her) ;  "  an  it  may 
be  ye  wull  go  wi'  us."    "  And  where  are  you  going  ?"    "  To 
the  Free  Church  at  Tarbet."     "  But  that  is  a  great  way  off, 
is  it  not  ?"     "  Och,"  said  the  old  lady,  "  it  is  not  too  far :  we 
go  over  in  a  boat,  and  then  it  is  only  about  three  miles  and  a 
half ;  and  a  gude,  nice  road  it  is."     I  recollected  that  it  had 
generally  rained  in  the  afternoon,  and  said,  "  But  it  will  rain, 
i  fear,  and  I  shall  get  wet."     The  old  lady  was  evidently 
fearful  that  I  was  going  to  profane  the  day  of  God  by  travel, 
as  everybody  does  here.     I  saw  it  in  her  countenance.     She 
immediately  said,  in  the  most  respectful  manner  possible,  and 
with  a  voice  full  of  softness  and  persuasion,  which  made  even 
the  rough,  hard  Scotch  a  sound  of  music  (what  tongue  is 
there  that  a  woman's  voice  cannot  sweeten  ?), "  Yes,  sir,  but 
ye  maun  trust  Providence  for  that."    A  tear  came  into  my 
eyes;  I  could  not  keep  it  back.     Other  words  had  passed,  for 
the  men  were  forward  to  urge  me  to  go  with  them ;  and  as 
the  last  Sabbath  was  their  communion,  they  thought  their 
minister  would  have  something  good  for  me  to-day.     I  de- 
termined at  once  to  go  with  them.     I  found,  too,  that  they 
were  shepherds,  and  recollected  that  the  shepherds  were  a  race 
honored  by  the  first  annunciation  of  the  Eedeemer  and  the 
visit  of  angels.     I  felt,  too,  the  sweetness  of  this  Christian 
love.     Here  was  society,  and  my  impulse  was  to  see  what 
would  come  of  it.     I  took  my  seat  with  them  in  the  boat ; 
found  a  beautiful,  grand  road  along  the  other  shore,  neat 
enough  to  grace  the  entrance  to  a  castle.     I  talked  with  the 
old  lady,  going   on  while  the  men  fastened  the  boat,  and 
learned  that  she  was  the  mother  of  twelve  children.     I  told 
her  about  America,  and  found  her,  as  to  all  matters  of  relig- 
ious character,  exceedingly  correct  in  her  judgments,— wise 
in  the  true  sense  of  the  term.     By-and-by  a  cart  overtook 
us,  and  she  was  invited  to  ride.     I  threw  in  my  overcoat, 
which  she  brought  me  after  we  came  to  the  church,  as  if 
she  had  undertaken  to  make  me  comfortable.     When  the 
men  fell  in  with  others,  something  was  said,  I  perceived, 


122  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

about  me,  and  I  fell  into  conversation  with  tlietn.     By-and- 
by  one  of  my  old  comrades  overtook  two  very  genteelly 
dressed  ladies,  who  were  walking  their  two  miles  to  church. 
They  shook  hands  with  him  very  cordially.     I  joined  them, 
and  went  into  conversation  with  them.     The  whole  scene 
was  so  primitive  and  picturesque,  and  withal  so  beautifully 
Christian,  that  my  heart  overflowed  with  delight.    The  church 
was  a  little  snug  building,  and  in  a  style  of  simplicity  suited 
to  the  people.     Isothing  could  exceed  the  reverent  manner 
of  the  worshippers.     They  sang  from  their  old  version  of 
the  Psalms,  the  lyrical  merit  of  which  you  know.     A  plain 
homespun  fellow,  sitting  in  a  little  desk  under  the  pulpit,  led 
the  singing  in  an  old,  nasal,  tremulous  manner, — Dundee,  of 
course !     Then  followed  a  prayer,  very  laborious  and  fervent, 
three  quarters  of  an  hour  long.     A  chapter  of  sixty  or  seven- 
ty verses  was  read.     Then  came  the  sermon,  about  an  hour 
and  a  half  long,  correct  in  language  as  could  be  expected 
of  an  educated  Iliglilander,  rank  limited -atonement,  Scotch 
orthodox,  and  yet  all  divine  love  to  a  guilty  world.     The 
Bible  was  beaten  severely,  as  if  the  scourging  of  Christ  was 
represented  in  action ;  and  yet  it  was  no  pantomime.     It  re- 
minded me  all  the  way  of  that  old  prince  of  preachers,  the 
Eev.  Mr.  Mucklewrath.     I  was  carried  straight  back  to  the 
times  of  the  Covenanters,  and  saw,  as  I  never  expected  to  see, 
that  Sir  Walter's  pictures  are  no  caricatures.    I  had,  of  course, 
a  certain  kind  of  historical  interest  in  the  worship;  yet  I 
could  but  think  that  the  old  shepherdess  would  have  made 
a  better  service.      Another  singing  followed,  then  a  long 
prayer,  which  closed  the  English  service.     Then,  after  a  dis- 
mission, was  to  follow  immediately  the  Gaelic  service,  mak- 
ing in  all  a  continuous  pull  for  the  stout  Highland  preacher 
of  about  five  hours !    I  retired,  and  found  my  way  back  to  my 
little  Scotch  chamber,  to  think  of  my  own  dear  people  and 
dear  wife  and  children.     It  was  a  good  day — the  best  and 
sweetest  I  have  spent  since  leaving  home.      On  Monday  I 
passed  down  Loch  Katrine  in  a  row-boat,  ten  miles,  the  only 
passenger.     The  lower  end  of  the  lake  is  closed  in  among  the 
Trossachs,  wild,  broken  hills,  whose  bases  are  covered  with 


EDINBURGH.  123 

birch,  the  greenest  and  most  graceful  of  trees — sterility  and 
rock  made  graceful  and  verdant.  As  soon  as  you  reach  the 
Lowlands  cultivation  begins,  the  very  highest  cultivation  I 
have  seen.  ...  I  met  in  the  Highlands,  and  on  my  way  down 
to  Edinburgh,  all  England  going  np  to  the  shooting  season, 
w^hich  began  day  before  yesterday — dukes,  and  footmen,  and 
dogs,  of  course.  If  they  find  as  many  birds  as  I  have  seen 
dogs,  they  will  have  a  splendid  season  of  it. 

To  the  Same. 

London,  August  16, 1845. 

You  perceive  that  I  am  now  at  my  old  centre  of  motion. 
I  returned  to  London  last  Saturday  morning,  having  swept 
a  path  from  Newcastle,  about  tliree  hundred  miles,  in  a 
single  day,  and  stopped  two  hours  in  York  to  see  the  old 
Minster.  A  most  noble  structure  it  is,  the  finest  by  far  I 
have  seen  in  England.  At  Edinburgh  I  was  not  fortunate 
in  my  letters,  though  less  desperately  nnfortunate  than  in 
Glasgow ;  Drs.  Chalmers,  Cunningham,  Candlish,  and  Alexan- 
der w^ere  all  out  of  town.     I  called  on  Mrs.  G ,  and  was 

very  kindly  received.  She  invited  me  to  stay  to  a  family 
dinner,  which  I  could  not  do ;  and  as  she  was  likely  to  be 
compelled  to  ask  me  to  a  formal  dinner,  which  is  a  soinewhat 
formidable  affair,  I  asked  myself  to  breakfast.  I  was  a  little 
troubled  lest  I  had  not  done  the  politest  tiling  possible ;  but 
I  concluded,  on  mature  deliberation,  that  it  was,  on  the  whole, 
the  best  hit  in  that  way  that  I  ever  made.  At  any  rate,  I 
thought  I  could  see  tliat  I  gave  a  pleasant  relief,  and  w\as 
welcomed  in  a  manner  that  was  exceedingly  agreeable.  Scot- 
land, as  you  know,  is  all  theology  just  now,  and  they  have 
just  been  trying  Dr.  Brown  for  the  heresy  of  a  general  atone- 
ment.    Mr.  G pushed,  very  naturally,  into-  theolog}^ ;  and 

I  was  not  reluctant,  as  it  gave  me  an  opportunity  of  seeing 

what  is  the  tenor  of  thinking  here.      Mrs.  G ,  too,  was 

quite  as  deep  in  these  subjects  as  her  husband. 

I  left  Edinburgh  on  Friday,  and  stayed  for  the  night  at 
Melrose,  close  by  the  old  Abbey,  which  you  know  is  consid- 
ered one  of  the  most  beautiful  ruins  in  the  realm.     It  could 


124  LIFE  OF   HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

not  well  be  more  so.  The  Abbey  itself  is  gone  ;  nothing  but 
the  church  remains,  and  that  only  in  fragments.  I  went 
immediately  to  view  it,  in  the  dusk  of  evening ;  ascended  a 
spiral  staircase  of  stone  in  one  of  the  turrets,  and  came  out 
upon  the  arch,  once  covered  with  a  stone  roof,  but  now  load- 
ed, externally,  with  earth  and  weaving  grass, — Sir  Walter  Scott 
having  had  the  earth  placed  on  this  and  one  of  the  other  ga- 
bles to  protect  it  from  the  weather.  I  heard  a  ticking  near 
me,  and,  while  I  was  listening  to  find  whence  it  came,  the 
clock  struck  the  hour,  in  a  little  bastard  turret  that  had  been 
stuck  up  in  the  ruins  to  serve  the  purpose, — the  only  remnant 
of  use  in  a  temple  once  vocal  with  chants,  and  vespers,  and 
matins,  and  masses  for  the  dead.  Time  sits  upon  the  ruin, 
counts  the  hours,  and  says.  Behold  my  work ! 

On  the  20tli  of  August,  iu  haste  to  reach  Switzerland  before  the  season 
should  be  too  far  advanced,  he  left  London  for  the  Continent,  feeling  very- 
solitary.  On  the  boat  for  Ostend  he  was  accosted  by  a  stranger,  who 
pi'oved  to  be  a  young  American ;  and  as  it  was  the  plan  of  both  to  fol- 
low the  Rhine  to  Switzerland,  they  fell  into  company. 

Extract  from  a  jpiiblished  Letter. 

The  two  most  striking  objects  in  Belgium, — two  that  are 
seen  in  perpetual  proximity  and  hideous  contrast,  —  are  the 
magnificent  churches  or  cathedrals  and  the  profligate-looking 
priests.  It  is  not  the  religious  traveller  only,  looking  at  ob- 
jects through  the  medium  of  a  refined  spiritual  perception, 
who  makes  the  observation.  The  contrast  meets  the  eye  like 
that  of  light  and  darkness.  One  is  scarcely  ever  out  of  sight 
of  some  grand  cathedral,  never  out  of  sight  of  the  priesthood, 
who  meet  him  by  the  roadside,  in  the  rail-ears,  at  every  cross- 
ing of  the  streets,  revealing  by  a  certain  sensual  air  and 
greasy  look  the  loss  of  that  virtue  which  it  is  their  ofiice  to 
maintain.  Never  shall  I  forget  the  soul-sickness  that  I  suf- 
fered, for  example,  in  the  great  cathedral  at  Antwerp,  watch- 
ing the  confessors'  boxes:  —  on  one  side  an  ingenuous-looking 
boy,  or  simple,  conscientious-looking  woman  ;  on  the  other,  a 
red-faced,  sensual  son  of  Eli,  in  his  dirty  habiliments,  receiv- 
ing the  whisper  of  a  guilty  mind,  and  the  simple  story,  per- 


THE   REFORMATION   OF   RONGE  AND    CZERSKI.  125 

haps,  of  its  struggles  witli  evil, — those  struggles  which  to  the 
mind  of  God  are  the  purest  incense  that  ever  rises  from  the 
.Avorld  of  mortals.  I  was  present,  too,  on  the  Sabbath,  when 
the  vast  area  of  that  magnificent  edifice  was  filled  with  wor- 
shippers. I  saw  the  gorgeous  rites  transacted  before  the  im- 
ages. I  saw  the  multitude  famishing  for  lack  of  knowledge 
in  the  service  of  an  unknown  tongue ;  and  I  was  able  still, — 
in  the  grandeur  of  the  place  and  the  assemblage,  the  magnifi- 
cence of  the  rites,  the  cadence  of  the  response,  and  the  swell 
of  the  anthem, — to  extract,  by  a  little  spiritual  alchemy,  the 
food  of  worship,  to  bring  into  play  some  great,  and  power- 
ful, and,  I  trust,  good  emotions.  But  wlien  I  saw,  near  the 
close  of  the  service,  the  ghostly  procession  winding  through 
the  crowd  by  my  side,  the  central  figure  of  which  was  as  bloat- 
ed, sin-worn,  sorry-looking  a  miscreant  as  I  ever  beheld,  walk- 
ing in  a  cloud  of  incense,  and  trying  to  draw  an  air  of  sanc- 
timony upon  features  that  refused  to  be  sanctified,  my  heart 
sank  w' ithin  me ;  feeling  was  gone,  worship  was  ended.  I  had 
no  alchemy  left  that  could  distil  another  drop  of  dew  or  raise 
another  flame  of  emotion. 

I  have  taken  some  pains  to  inquire  into  the  real  merits  and 
ascertain  the  prospects  of  the  new  Reformation  that  is  going 
on,  under  the  first  impulse  of  Ronge  and  Czerski,  in  Ger- 
many. The  secession  comprises  already  a  hundred  and  thirty 
churclies,  and,  it  is  computed,  about  thirty  thousand  people. 
At  Frankfort  they  worship  at  present,  I  was  told,  in  the  Ger- 
man Reformed  Church,  after  morning  service  of  that  church 
is  ended  ;  and  so  great  is  the  crowd  that  only  a  fraction  of 
those  who  come  can  find  a  place  within  the  doors.  Their 
worship  is  in  the  vernacular  tongue,  without  images,  or  can- 
dles, or  incense,  and  is  closely  resembled  in  its  form  to  that 
of  the  Lutherans.  Preaching  is  an  important  part  of  the  ser- 
vice. The  controversy  is  warm  and  active  on  both  sides,  as 
might  be  expected.  But  while  the  movement  has  rushed  on- 
ward thus  far  with  so  great  power  and  celerity,  many  are  ap- 
prehensive that  it  will  come  to  its  limit  and  spend  itself  very 
soon.  Ronge,  it  is  said,  is  a  rationalist ;  whether  justly,  or 
because  of  the  strong  antagonistic  expressions  he  would  nat- 


126  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

iirallj  use  in  his  conflict  with  the  mystical  and  ghostly  doc- 
trines of  church  authority  and  the  cliurch  legends  of  Roman- 
ism, I  cannot  say.  Certain  it  is  that  many  persons  distin- 
guished for  evangelical  piety  want  confidence  in  him.  Czer- 
ski  is  supposed  to  be  a  true  believer,  but  is  still  under  a  cloud 
of  delusions,  from  which  he  has  only  half  emerged.  He  is 
generally  acknowledged,  however,  to  be  a  truly  pious  and 
godly  man ;  but  it  is  a  common  opinion  that  neither  he  nor 
Itonge  is  equal  to  the  task  of  guiding  the  new  Heformation. 
The  common  remark  is  that  a  Luther  is  wanting.  Tiie  acces- 
sion of  Theiner,  who  is  a  much  stronger  man  than  either,  and 
M'ho,  it  is  supposed,  will  be  called  to  the  charge  in  Berlin,  is 
thought  to  be  imjDortant.  He  will  be  able,  it  is  thought,  to 
mould  the  rather  incongruous  elements  into  some  shape  of 
uniformity.  Otherwise,  it  is  predicted  that  the  followers  of 
Ronge  and  Czerski,  who  have  hitherto  acted  with  a  degree  of 
concert,  will  not  long  be  held  together.  A  convention  was 
held  recently  at  Leipsic,  which  w^as  called  Council  I.,  to  de- 
vise some  platform  of  order  and  doctrine.  But  it  has  been 
represented,  I  know  not  with  what  truth,  as  a  meeting  for 
good  eating  and  drinking,  rather  than  a  council  of  Church 
fathers.  They  were  able  to  agree,  it  is  said,  only  in  a  single 
Article,  aflirming  the  supreme  authority  of  the  Scriptures, 
leaving  it  to  eacli  congregation  to  work  out  its  own  way,  for 
the  present,  in  all  but  this,  and  hoping  that  time  will  prepare 
the  way  for  some  more  general  agreement. 

In  liis  joiirual,  side  by  side  with  his  imjjressious  of  the  Cathedral  of 
-Cologne,  —  which,  he  says,  "made  everything  else  he  had  seen  appear  a 
mere  toy,"  —  occurs  this  notice  of  one  of  the  minor  churches: — 

Cologne,  August  37. 
I  sallied  out  early  for  a  random  tramp  through  the  town. 
Saw  many  of  the  churches.  St.  Martin's,  with  many  of  this 
region,  has  what  I  think  is  a  Byzantine  stamp,  probably 
brought  from  the  East  by  the  crusaders.  By- the -way,  this 
kind  of  structure,  which  is  very  fine,  might,  with  suitable 
modifications,  take  a  mould  well  adapted  to  Puritan  churches 
in  America.     It  is  simple  and  severe,  with  sliarp  roof,  tall, 


HEIDELBERG  AND   ZURICH.  127 

naked  spire ;  windows  with  rounded  tops  and  cut  up  by  broad 
niullions,  some  of  them  liaving  the  parts  taller  towards  the 
centre ;  also  circular  windows,  square  towers,  cornice  plain, 
with  pendants  in  relief  on  the  wall.  Generally  the  end  of  the 
choir  is  a  half-circle,  with  a  gallery  cut  for  monks  or  nuns 
under  the  eaves,  to  show  them  going  to  worship. 

Heidelberg,  September  2. 
Eose  in  the  morning  and  opened  my  window  upon  the 
ruins  overhanging  my  hotel,  but  with  no  relish  for  the  pros- 
pect. Possibly  I  am  a  little  nervous  from  a  low  diet  yester- 
day. I  raised  once  or  twice,  as  it  seemed,  from  my  lungs; 
fancied  I  had  a  bad  sensation  there,  and  associated  the  sign 
with  the  lassitude  and  thinness  of  flesh  which  I  have  suffered 
for  months.  Is  it  possible,  I  said  for  the  first  time,  that  I  am 
to  be  the  victim  of  consumption  ?  The  question  made  a  strug- 
gle in  my  heart,  brought  up  my  family,  my  people,  my  sins, 
my  distance  from  home  in  a  strange  land.  But  I  found  rest 
in  God,  at  least  some  degree  of  rest.  How  great  a  comfort 
that  I  can  never  pass  out  of  his  hands  in  life  or  death ! 

This  last  note,  so  significant  of  the  future,  is  immediately  followed  by 
a  minute  description  of  the  castle,  which  he  visited,  it  seems,  as  soon  as 
he  had  breakfasted,  showing  how  little  he  gave  way  to  feelings  of  illness 
and  depression. 

To  his  VTife. 

Zurich  (Sabbath  evening),  September  7. 

I  have  seen,  since  I  last  wrote  you,  a  great  many  things 
full  of  interest  and  power.  I  have  never  been  out  of  sight  of 
a  castle,  sometimes  in  full  sight  of  half  a  dozen  at  once.  Gen- 
erally they  are  in  ruins ;  and  I  could  not  but  thank  God,  in 
passing  them,  that  we  have  now  a  better  day.  The  Hanseatic 
League  combined  to  destroy  them,  and  joy  be  to  their  ruins ! 
Let  them  stand  for  all  coming  ages  as  a  monument  of  a  day 
when  there  was  no  law. 

Frankfort  is  a  very  fresh-looking,  prosperous  town.  They 
have  torn  down  the  ramparts,  and  made  them  a  public  walk, 
or  garden,  quite  round  the  city.     The  core  of  the  city  is  old, 


128  LIFE   OF   HORACE   BUSHNELL. 

of  course,  and  crowded,  as  it  must  be  when  walls  were  wanted 
for  defence.  Again  I  say,  God  be  thanked  that  a  day  has 
come  when  laws  are  better  than  walls. 

At  Frankfort  I  had  a  very  curious  set  of  adventures  one  af- 
ternoon, both  amusing  and  touching.     I  had  two  letters,  one 

from  Mrs.  B ,  and  another  from  Mr.  Weld,  which  I  took 

a  cab  to  deliver,  hoping  in  that  way  to  find  the  places.  My 
German  cabman  knew  the  Englishman,  Dr.  Pinkerton,  but  he 
took  me  to  another  Englishman,  as  it  would  haj^pen.  While 
I  was  stammering  with  the  porter  at  the  door,  the  gentleman 
overheard  me,  and  came  down.  I  showed  him  the  address  of 
my  letter.  He  said  that  Dr.  Pinkerton  was  not  in  town, — had 
been  absent  for  some  days.  He  saw  that  I  w'as  a  stranger, 
and  felt  somewhat  lost  in  my  strange  language,  as,  indeed,  I 
did.  I  never  felt  my  solitude  among  men  so  oppressive,  and 
was  yet  more  oppressed  by  ray  dreadful  cold.  As  he  went 
to  the  gate  to  direct  me, — for  I  concluded  to  leave  my  let- 
ter with  the  daughter  of  Dr.  P., — he  said,  "And  will  you  not 
come,  sir,  and  take  tea  with  me  to-morrow  evening,  since  Dr. 
Pinkerton  is  out  of  town  ?"  I  was  never  so  touched  by  any 
act  of  kindness  in  my  life,  and  I  replied, "  You  have  offered  a 
hospitality  so  gratuitous  and  spontaneous  that  I  shall  certain- 
ly come."  After  delivering  my  letter,  where  I  found  rea- 
son to  suspect  who  my  new  friend  was,  I  set  off  to  deliver 
the  other.  It  was  to  a  German  who  could  speak  English; 
but  my  driver  had  got  it  in  his  head  that  this  also  was  an 
Englishman.  The  name  Ivosel  we  read  Eosel,  also ;  so  he 
began  to  inquire  of  ladies  here  and  there  for  an  Englisher, 
Eosel,  first  at  one  window,  then  at  another.  "JS^o,  no,"  said 
I;  "not  Englisher  —  German!"  But  it  did  no  good.  Last 
of  all,  lie  inquired  again,  the  fourth  or  fifth  time,  of  a  young 
lady  in  a  bovver  by  the  garden-fence.  My  gloom  w^as  broken 
by  the  hospitality  just  received,  and  I  fell  into  a  state  of  glee. 
I  laughed,  and  the  good  ladies  laughed  too.  After  driving 
about  and  about  long  enough,  the  fun  became  exhausted.  I 
stopped  the  driver,  and  delivered  my  letter  into  the  hands  of 
a  gentleman  by  the  roadside,  who  read  the  name  right,  and 
immediately  directed  the  driver  to  the  place.     We  passed  b}'' 


FRANKFORT  AND   LAKE   ZURICH.  129 

the  young  lady's  bower  the  third  time,  and  stopped  at  the 
very  next  gate,  some  thirty  feet  off.  TJie  servant  showed  me 
up-stairs,  and,  instead  of  producing  Mr.  Kosel,  produced  liis 
wife.  I  asked,  "  Can  you  speak  English  ?"  "  No."  She  ask- 
ed, "  Can  you  speak  French  ?"  "  No."  Then  we  went  on  ; 
she,  to  tell  me,  I  suppose,  that  her  husband  was  dead,  or  be- 
yond sea,  or  gone  to  market ;  I,  to  tell  her  w^io  Mr.  Weld  was. 
We  stammered  and  stuck  in  thick  darkness,  and  iinally  burst 
out  into  a  loud  laugh  in  our  mutual  perplexity.  She  showed 
me  to  a  seat.  Bless  me !  what  could  I  do  by  sitting?  I  took 
her  hand  and  bid  her  good-bye,  and  she  bid  me  gute7i  some- 
thing. I  went  off  laughing,  and  she  stayed,  laughing  —  one 
echoing  the  other. 

From  the  Journal. 

September  10. 
On  the  way  back  to  Lachen  by  canal,  near  Lake  Zurich,  we 
came  in  sight  of  a  bridge  which  we  saw  crowded  with  people. 
We  came  to  it,  and  found  the  whole  hamlet  of  peasants  out 
to  witness  the  departure  of  emigrants  for  America.  Their 
faces  were  full  of  animation,  and  some  of  feeling.  It  sound- 
ed sweetly  to  me  to  hear  America  blended  with  the  strange 
words  that  were  unintelligible.  It  brought  my  country  home 
to  me,  as  dear  above  all  others,  to  see  these  people,  living  in 
the  most  beautiful  scenery  of  the  world,  turning  their  eyes 
and  their  longing  footsteps  tow\ards  America;  but  sweeter 
than  all,  to  distinguish  among  the  parting  words  —  Jesus 
Christ ;  for  that  bespoke  a  better  country  for  all.  Little  do 
these  men,  who  are  lugging  their  silver  on  board  the  boat 
so  earnestly  and  forsaking  their  homes,  know  what  awaits 
them  in  the  fevers,  and  chills,  and  toils  of  a  new  life  in  the 
wilderness.  I  was  deeply  moved  by  this  scene,  as  deeply  as 
by  the  grandest  scenes  of  nature  that  I  have  looked  upon. 
We  climbed  over  the  hills,  by  diligence,  to  Schwytz,  which  we 
reached  in  the  evening.  We  passed  by  Einsiedeln,  the  fa- 
mous old  Abbey  whither  so  many  thousand  pilgrims  go  ev- 
ery year.  In  climbing  the  hills  on  foot,  I  passed  by  four  pil- 
grims, old  and  poor,  who,  I  found,  were  on  their  way  thither. 


130  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

They  were  counting  their  beads  and  singing  their  Swiss 
hymns  as  they  went.  Which  is  actuated  by  the  best  and 
truest  piety, — one  of  these  pilgrims,  infatuated  as  they  cer- 
tainly are,  in  a  sense  ;  or  I,  roving  far  and  near  to  look  on  the 
scenes  of  nature  and  the  works  of  man,  —  all,  alas!  with  so 
little  of  earnest,  pure  devotion  ?  Judge  not,  that  ye  be  not 
judged.  The  descent  to  Schwytz  was  by  an  older  road,  down, 
down,  down,  as  if  never  to  stop.  The  town,  pitched  together 
pell-mell,  is  a  queer-looking  cup  of  a  place,  environed  by  all 
that  is  lovely  and  sublime.  It  is  situated  in  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  valleys  conceivable :  two  sharp  peaks  piercing  the 
sky  behind  it ;  oj^posite,  an  irregular  sweep  of  mountains, 
backed  by  higher  summits  covered  with  snow  ;  and  in  a 
gap  that  opens  to  the  north-west,  a  slip  of  the  Lake  of  Lu- 
cerne, sleeping  between  the  mountains.  It  was  the  brave 
men  of  this  deep,  grass}'-  dell  who,  on  the  field  of  Morgarten, 
gave  a  name  and.  liberty  to  their  countrj-. 

September  11. 

About  four  in  the  morning  the  matin  bells  began  to  ring, 
and  kept  it  up  at  intervals  till  eight.  L^nable  to  sleep,  I  rose 
at  length,  and  went  across  the  street  to  the  old  church  where 
the  mass  was  performing.  The  priests'  work  was  mummery, 
but  the  people  made  responses  or  went  through  a  litany  in 
German,  all  with  loud,  full  voices,  and  with  a  manner  of  pro- 
found devotion.  At  the  close,  the  priests  led  forth  a  proces- 
sion, with  the  cross  and  tall  wax-candles,  followed  by  women, 
— perhaps  nuns, — with  tapers,  into  the  church-yard.  There 
all,  including  children,  by  turns  dipped  a  brush  into  a  vessel 
of  water  and  sprinkled  it  with  the  greatest  solemnity  on  a 
grave.  This  is  done  on  the  seventh  day  after  interment, 
on  the  same  day  of  the  next  month,  and  the  same  of  the  next 
year ;  the  burial-service,  therefore,  is  a  year  long.  Can  it  be 
less  than  a  merit  of  the  Catholic  religion,  with  all  its  attend- 
ant superstitions,  that  it  keeps  up  so  close  and  intimate  a 
relation  between  the  living  and  the  dead  ? 

September  20. 

I  arrived  at  the  top  of  the  Scheideck,  about  seven  thousand 
feet  above  the  sea,  close  under  the  magnificent  peak  of  Wet- 


THE  SCHEIDECK.  131 

terliorn.  ...  It  greatly  aided  the  impression  here  that  donds 
were  lying  against  the  mountain  and  folding  themselves  about 
it  as  a  veil,  just  opening  occasionally  to  reveal  the  summit 
liung  in  mid -heaven,  as  it  were,  over  us.  We  descended  a 
little  way,  but  lingered  near  the  pass  till  almost  sundown. 
As  in  a  deep  dell,  far  down  below  us,  lay  the  green  valley 
of  Grindelwald,  sprinkled  all  the  way  up  to  the  highest  line 
of  pasture  on  both  sides  with  the  summer  huts  of  the  cheese- 
makers.  Above  was  the  peak  of  Wetterhorn,  and  Mettenberg 
and  Eiger  on  the  east,  heading  off  the  valley. 

We  found  a  boy  with  a  loaded  blunderbuss  ready  to  give 
US  an  echo,  which  rattled  and  pealed  and  cracked  with  re- 
duplicated noises  like  thunder,  far  up  and  away  among  the 
veiled  tops  of  the  Oberland,  drawing  a  response  from  each. 
Then  we  fell  to  trying  our  voices  through  a  flaring  wooden 
trumpet  that  was  offered  us.  I  found  that  my  loudest  bass 
shout  produced  an  effect  almost  superhuman,  and  I  was 
tempted  and  urged  to  continue  it,  till  I  was  quite  hoarse. 
Up  rolled  the  sound  into  the  unknown,  misty  world,  prolong- 
ing itself  in  swells  and  pulsations  so  seraphic  that  it  seemed 
as  if  the  choirs  of  heaven  had  replied.  I  never  could  have 
thought  it  possible  for  any  single  note  to  have  such  a  depth 
and  ravishing  power.  Not  all  the  notes  I  ever  heard  had  so 
much  music  in  them. 

Presently  the  veil  began  to  grow  thin.  Looking  up,  we 
saw  far  up  in  the  sky  a  pure  white  terrace,  like  a  battlement 
of  the  upper  world,  shining  faintly  through ;  and  while  we 
were  gazing  and  w^oudering  at  the  stupendous  height,  we  saw 
breaking  forth,  still  far  above  on  the  right,  a  tall  granite  pin- 
nacle, and  suddenly  again  on  the  left  another,  yet  a  thousand 

feet  higher. 

September  21  (Sunday). 

A  most  beautiful  day,  passed  at  Grindelwald.  Our  hotel 
is  close  under  the  mountains  which  terminate  the  valley  on 
the  east.  Wetterhorn  and  Eiger  overhang  it,  and  a  glacier 
lies  close  under  it  on  the  east.  Tlie  garden  seems  to  smile 
with  flowers,  close  upon  it.  Went  to  church  in  the  morning 
to  see  worship,  i.  e.,  Protestant  worship, — I  had  seen  Komisli 


132  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

before.  The  old  church  was  crowded  with  men  and  women, 
all  in  their  Sunday  dresses  of  homespun, — hard,  brawny  faces, 
dark  with  toil,  and  sharp  also.  A  man  was  reading  Scripture 
to  them  from  the  choir.  When  the  minister  entered  they  all 
rose.  The  most  perfect  order  and  stillness  prevailed.  They 
stood  in  prayer  without  exception,  the  men  with  their  faces 
in  their  hats.  I  understood  not,  yet  I  felt  the  worship,  that 
there  is  "  neither  Greek  nor  Jew."  Howbeit,  there  are  walls 
of  language.  The  beautiful  smiling  valley,  the  grandeur  of 
the  overhanging  Alps,  the  snows,  fit  emblems  hung  out  in 
heaven  to  incite  to  purity  of  heart, — all  made  it  a  pleasant 
day 

September  22. 
Started  early  for  the  Wengern.  .  .  .  Nothing  can  exceed  the 
beauty  of  these  Alpine  views,  when  from  high  ground  we 
look  down  into  some  deep  gulf  of  green,  and  across  to  a  snow- 
crowned  region  of  peaks,  only  now  and  then  displaying  their 
outline,  and  sometimes  making  a  landscape  above  the  clouds 
and  under  them  at  the  same  time.  The  light  is  so  magical, 
blue  and  white,  shade  and.  sun,  depth  and  height,  all  blended 
into  one  picture,  and  that  varying  its  forms  and  colors  every 
moment.  The  Jungfrau,  which  is  the  finest  of  the  range, 
was  under  a  veil  of  cloud  as  we  rounded  the  Wengern  and 
descended  under  it.  The  clouds,  we  hoped,  would  blow  away ; 
but  I  know  not  what  we  should  have  gained  in  impression, 
for  the  incessant  rock  and  thunder  of  the  avalanches  in  the 
top,  far  beyond  our  sight,  indicated  below  only  by  torrents 
of  powdered  ice,  m.ade  an  impression  of  sublimity  and  awe 
that  was  but  the  deeper  for  the  clouds.  The  very  clouds 
themselves  seemed  to  be  ice-powder  smoking  in  the  air;  in- 
deed they  were  so,  in  fact.  The  mountain  smoked  and  thun- 
dered in  the  midst ;  only  the  wrath  was  cold,  not  hot ;  but 
it  was  even  the  more  terrible  on  that  account — for  when  is 
Jehovah's  throne  so  dreadful  as  when  it  quakes  with  cold? 
The  sound  of  an  avalanche  is  itself  more  sublime  than  thun- 
der, but  it  is  terrestrial,  not  aerial.  It  is  overhead,  but  near ; 
the  very  sound  reports  of  ruin.  We  know  that  the  bolt  has 
struck ;  we  hear  it  crack  with  a  hollow  peal  in  the  smoking 


ALPINE  SCENES.  133 

tops  among  the  clouds.  Then  comes  the  phmge,  the  contu- 
sion, tlie  bounding  fragments,  as  if  a  broken-down  castle  were 
sliding  down  the  hill  and  rattling  its  stones  from  cliflE  to  cliff, 
till  all  is  ground  to  powder  too  fine  to  make  a  noise ;  then 
the  white  dust-river,  pouring  off  some  lower  cliff,  showing  to 
the  eye  what  the  ear  has  heard  going  on.  One  is  not  fairly 
still  before  another  comes ;  the  ice  thunder  is  never  over,  and 
the  sense  of  eternity  is  added  to  the  sense  of  power.  Far 
up  in  the  cloud-region,  yet  on  earth,  we  hear  the  tumult  of 
the  frost-giants  waging  perpetual  battle;  or,  rather  say,  Je- 
hovah himself,  whose  tremendous  attributes,  without  battle, 
roll  down  the  witness  of  their  power  unspent  to  mortals  in 

every  age. 

To  his  Wife. 
^  Berne,  September  25, 1845. 

How  can  I  make  you  see  the  desolation  of  these  mountain 
solitudes?  The  cataracts  leaping  down  every  mile  or  two  out 
of  the  clouds ;  the  giant  forms  of  rock  and  snow  piercing  the 
sky;  the  lakes  overhung  with  alps  in  their  brilliant  green, 
and  reflecting  the  snow-capped  mountains ;  the  smiling  val- 
leys bosomed  in  ramparts  of  ice ;  the  glaciers  glittering  in 
their  beds  between  the  ribs  of  the  mountains ;  the  avalanches 
thundering  above  unseen  in  the  clouds,  and  rolling  their  pow- 
dered ice  down  the  cliffs  at  your  side ;  the  granite  peaks  that 
have  toppled  down  but  yesterday  in  acres  of  ruin  ;  the  slides 
that  have  buried  in  a  moment  whole  villages,  filled  up  lakes, 
and  rolled  a  wave  over  churches ;  the  changes  of  light  and 
shade,  cloud  and  sun,  distance  and  proximity, — how  shall  I 
ever  make  you  see  these  with  me  ?  Could  I  but  give  you  a 
glance  at  the  sunset  scene  of  this  very  evening  from  the  city 
of  Berne,  I  should  open  a  new  world  of  glory  and  grandeur 
on  your  eyes.  From  a  terrace  rounding  out  "above  that  of 
the  cathedral  I  watched  for  it.  Berne  must  be  forty-five  or 
fifty  miles  from  the  Oberland  Alps,  in  a  country  of  hill  and 
valley,  as  verdant  and  luxuriant  as  can  be  conceived.  Across 
this,  lighted  up  by  the  slanting  sun,  your  eye  passes  to  a  high, 
and  still  another  higher,  range  of  mountains  sinking  away 
into  a  blue,  dim  color.     Then,  above  all  these,  rise  the  white, 


134  LIFE   OF   HORACE   BUSIINELL. 

sky  -  piercing  peaks  of  tlie  Oberland,  filling  up  about  one 
eighth  of  the  circle  of  the  horizon.  Between  three  and  four 
o'clock  you  see  only  two  or  three  of  these ;  and  having  their 
shaded  side  towards  you,  their  profile  alone  is  lighted ;  and 
they  rise  so  high  above  the  common  floating  clouds  that  they 
seem  themselves  to  be  only  a  higher  cloud,  anchored  in  the 
sky.  By  five  o'clock  the  tops  of  the  whole  range  are  out, 
clear  and  white,  above  a  long,  dark  stratum  of  cloud  that  lies 
stretched  between  them  and  the  lower  mountains.  The  sun 
pours  into  the  interstices  below,  revealing  patches  of  white, 
interspersed  with  rock,  and  the  summits  are  seen  floating  on 
the  dusky  cloud-region  above,  a  realm  of  icebergs.  But  just 
at  the  setting  the  clouds  rise  up  and  fade  away;  then  stand 
out,  first  in  a  pale,  sickly  white,  as  if  the  cloud  had  only  be- 
come invisible,  without  being  removed ;  and  finally,  in  a  few 
minutes  more  (and  by  a  change  perfectly  perceptible,  as  if 
life  were  returning  to  the  pallid  face  of  the  dead),  yellowed  in 
the  rays  of  the  sun,  swung  round  so  as  to  j^our  his  full  tide 
into  their  faces, — Wetterhorn,  Schreckhorn,  Finster-Aarhorn, 
Eiger,  Munch,  Jungfrau,  Blumlis, — a  wall  of  glittering  ingots 
piled  up  to  the  sky. 

I  have  had,  thus  far,  as  fine  weather  for  Switzerland  as  I 
could  desire,  and  I  have  never  enjoyed  so  much  in  so  short  a 
time ;  my  cup  has  been  full  to  the  brim  of  wonder,  joy,  and 
delight  in  every  shape.  And  yet  I  am  frank  to  say  that  none 
of  these  things  move  me  unless  when  I  connect  the  visible 
with  the  invisible,  and  see  in  the  forms  of  grandeur  around 
me  types  of  that  tremendous  Being  who  inhabits  and  glorifies 
all.  Oftentimes,  when  jaded  and  flagging  in  interest,  have  I 
found  that  a  simple  exercise  of  the  imagination  which  never 
tires,  connecting  what  I  see  with  some  spiritual  import,  has 
roused  me  at  once  and  restored  the  freshness  of  my  relish. 

To  the  Same. 

Geneva,  October  7, 1845. 
I  left  Berne,  the  day  after  I  wrote  you,  for  Freyburg  and 
Lausanne.     The  charm  of  Freyburg  is  its  two  suspension- 
bridges.     You  approach  it  in  the  air,  like  those  spiders  who 


FREYBURG  AND  VEVAY.  135 

sail  tlic  air  upon  the  web  they  spin.  This  place  is  the  Swiss 
metropolis  of  Jesuitry,  You  meet  them,  in  single  file  and  in 
platoons,  everywhere  in  and  about  the  town.  Merciful  Heav- 
en, what  a  Christianity  is  this !  You  need  to  see  it  and  smell 
it  before  you  can  know  it.  But  it  makes  a  most  loyal  peo- 
ple— holds  the  populace,  Mr.  AYoods  would  say,  under  such 
excellent  control  and  government.  Poor  abject  creatures  ! 
They  are  governed  in  Christ's  name  out  of  their  property, 
their  wits,  their  manhood.  They  are  not  under  law  but  be- 
low it;  there  is  no  more  danger  of  rebellion  among  them 
than  among  the  horses.  The  only  insurgency  they  will  ever 
be  guilty  of  is  in  begging,  spite  of  denial.  And  yet  they 
seem  to  be  industrious.  Their  lot  is  to  dig  and  not  to  be 
ashamed  to  beg  beside.  The  Catholic  and  Protestant  can- 
tons are  sprinkled  over  the  map  like  squares  in  a  patch- 
work, and  you  can  tell  to  a  certainty  when  you  enter  a 
Catholic  canton,  for  the  beggars  will  run  to  give  you  the 
sign.* 

I  spent  the  Sunday  at  Vevay.  It  was  a  quiet,  beautiful. 
Sabbath -like  daj^,  with  a  soft  blue  atmosphere,  and  clouds 
breaking  apart  to  let  the  softened  light  fall  upon  the  hills 
and  mountains.  Nature  worshipped  at  her  altars,  and  the 
cloud  of  incense  smoked  about  them  all.  On  Monday  went 
to  Martigny.  Next  morning  set  out  once  more  on  foot,  in 
high  spirits,  for  Chamouni,  across  the  Col  de  Balme.  We 
came  upon  the  top  in  a  driving  wind,  which  we  could  hardly 
force  our  way  into,  and  a  cloud  so  thick  that  we  could  scarce- 
ly see  five  rods,  much  less  see  Mt.  Blanc,  which  here,  according 
to  the  books,  is  to  burst  on  the  eye  with  full  grandeur  in  an 
instant.  I  arrived  before  the  others,  and  went  into  the  stone 
hut  or  lodge  that  is  erected  to  take  in  travellers.  A  shabby, 
long-bearded  fellow,  who  I  thought  was  just  the  man  to  cut 
my  throat,  sat  by  the  fire  swallowing  the  last  of  what  was 
meant  for  a  dinner.  I  tried  to  make  my  French  host  under- 
stand who  were  coming,  but  in  vain.     He  went  out,  when  lo  ! 

*  The  liberal  coustitution  adopted  in  1848  has  doubtless  made  great 
changes  in  the  canton  of  Freyburg. 

10 


136  LIFE   OF   IIOEACE   BUSIINELL. 

the  ragamuffin  spoke  out  in  the  finest  English  I  thought  I 
had  ever  heard.  I  saw  at  once  that  he  was  a  gentleman  in 
disguise.  He  entertained  us  afterwards  for  two  or  three 
hours  with  a  most  lively  account  of  his  adventures  among 
the  mountains,  and  of  the  Swiss  Water -Cure,  of  which  he 
had  been  a  patient.  I  have  all  the  while  been  getting  up 
the  spirit  of  adventure,  w^anting  to  scale  the  mountains  by 
new  and  untried  paths,  and  get  up  somewhere  above  the 
world,  but  my  comj)anions  were  of  a  tamer  mould,  con- 
tent with  the  horse -paths  and  the  books.  Perhaps  it  is 
well  that  I  have  been  anchored  by  more  sluggish  disposi- 
tions, but  it  has  all  along  been  the  greatest  subtraction 
from  my  happiness  that  our  exploits  were  the  exploits  of 
the  books,  our  adventures  in  the  travelled  road  of  adven- 
ture. 

But  we  must  see  Mt.  Blanc  from  the  Col  de  Balme ;  so  we 
all  decided  to  stay  overnight.  But  after  awhile  the  clouds, 
which  had  lifted  once  or  twice,  suddenly  drew  back,  I  was 
looking  out  of  the  port  -  hole  or  window,  and,  behold,  Mt. 
Blanc !  I  gave  the  word,  and  we  rushed  out  in  a  heap  to 
take  our  joy.  Here  it  was,  indeed,  without  a  cloud,  in  full 
view  from  the  bottom  to  the  top.  But  I  was  disappointed. 
There  was  no  such  impression  of  grandeur  and  height  as  I 
exjiected.  The  reason  was  twofold.  The  slope  of  tlie  sides 
of  the  mountain  is  too  gradual.  It  is  not  top-heavy.  It 
sleeps  on  its  base ;  and,  secondlj^  we  saw  it  from  a  position 
that  was  high  and  somewhat  distant,  so  that  the  angle  or  par- 
allax of  the  summit  was  too  small.  And,  I  might  add,  there 
was  no  intervening  mountain  to  hide  the  base,  and  call  upon 
the  imagination  to  supply  the  unknown,  or  give  a  scale  by 
which  to  assist  the  actual  measurement.  I  have  observed  a 
hundred  times  that  the  sublime  requires  the  unknown  as  an 
element.  A  cathedral  should  never  be  finished.  A  moun- 
tain should  be  partially  hidden  by  others  or  enveloped  in 
clouds.  The  principle  of  omne  ignotum  pro  magmfico  has 
a  broader  application  than  the  shallow  and  the  book -gossips 
suspect. 

After  gazing  about  fifteen  minutes,  I  said  to  my  two  com- 


MONT  BLANC.  137 

panions,  "  Now  for  Cliamouni !"     We  set  off  in  good  earnest, 
and  arrived  about  nine  o'clock  in  tlie  evening.  .  .  . 

On  October  2d  we  left  Cliamouni  for  Geneva.  A  few 
miles  down  the  valley  the  road  began  to  wind  round  the 
gulf,  on  a  shelf  three  or  four  hundred  feet  above  the  roaring 
Arve.  One  or  two  slopes  or  promontories  began  to  intervene 
and  cut  oft"  the  base  of  Mt.  Blanc,  so  as  to  assist  the  measure- 
ment, laying  open*  scenes  in  the  foreground  of  surpassing 
wildness,  and  lifting  the  mountains  in  the  background  into 
their  true  grandeur.  Hence  onward  to  a  point  fifteen  miles 
below  Sallenches,  the  valley  is  romantic  in  the  highest  de- 
gree, winding  round,  under  and  between,  walls  of  eternal 
rock,  sometimes  hanging  their  projecting  masses  over  the 
road  three  or  four  thousand  feet  high.  Here  a  water -fall 
drops  down  from  the  sky,  leaping  out  into  the  sun  so  far  that 
we  see  it  without  the  profile  of  the  mountain  for  three  miles 
or  more,  glittering  like  a  stream  of  jewels.  Here  the  valley 
is  shut  in  so  that  you  seem  fairly  caught,  like  Joseph  when 
he  was  dropped  into  the  pit.  Here  it  opens  into  a  broad  ex- 
panse of  meadow.  Here  the  mountain  draws  back,  revealing 
the  most  beautiful  farms  and  orchards  sleeping  on  some  high 
shelf  or  promontory.  This  is  truly  a  fit  adytum  to  the  grand 
monarch  of  the  mountains,  and  no  one  ought  ever  to  go  to 
Mt.  Blanc  except  this  way.  The  traveller  goes  on  through 
gates  of  rock,  opening  to  let  him  through ;  he  climbs  and 
climbs  again,  with  the  roaring  gulfs  around  him ;  he  sees 
here  and  there,  as  he  approaches  Cliamouni,  more  and  more 
distinctly  the  mountain  itself,  piercing  heaven  with  its  snowy 
top  ;  and,  last  of  all,  the  very  snows  themselves  drifting  round 
the  summit  and  glittering  as  a  frost-cloud  in  the  sun.  Thus 
he  comes  out  upon  the  entire  view  with  a  measurement  pre- 
pared in  his  mind.  .  .  .  Geneva  is  a  very  pleasant  town,  finely 
built  on  both  sides  of  the  Ehone,  just  as  it  leaves  the  lake. 
I  went  first  to  the  Cathedral.  Here  Calvin  reigned.  This 
was  the  pulpit  where  he  gave  law  to  Geneva,  and  Puritanized 
England,  and  peopled  America,  and  prepared  a  wave  of  lib- 
erty, to  roll  back  as  a  wave  of  frenzy  on  France,  and  thus  on 
Geneva  itself. 


138  LIFE  OF  IIOEACE  BUSHNELL. 

Geneva,  October  4. 
I  called  upon  Dr.  Mulan,  outside  the  town.  He  is  a  most 
venerable- looking  old  man,  with  long,  curled  locks  of  gray 
falling  on  his  shoulders.  His  look  is  benignant,  but  firm. 
He  is  a  truly  pious  man,  not  wanting  in  point  and  brilliancy, 
but  withal  a  little  over-rigid  or  narrow  in  his  views.  "  So, 
then,  you  are  from  dear  America  ?"  he  said.  I  conversed  with 
him  about  the  Christian  Alliance.  He  ag^-eed  as  regards  the 
value  of  the  object,  but  did  not  seem  at  first  to  see  how  it 
could  do  any  good.  "  Mt.  Blanc  (/.  <?,,  Rome)  will  stand  after 
all  the  public  speeches  and  resolutions."  He  was  jealous, 
too,  of  having  Christians  mix  up  with  worldly  principles, — 
of  talking  about  the  progress  of  society.  And  as  to  enter- 
ing into  union  with  the  Unitarians  and  Rationalists, — "they 
are  not  Protestants ;  I  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  them. 
Better  to  be  two  with  God  alone  than  many  without  him.  If 
I  could  speak  to  the  churches  in  America  I  would  tell  them 
that  their  speeches  are  too  worldly, — too  much  worldly  policy, 
too  little  of  Christ." 

October  8. 

I  met  Dr.  Merle,  with  several  others,  at  Professor  Gaus- 
sen's,  where  I  spent  the  evening  very  pleasantly.    I  had  some 

conversation  with  Dr.  M before  tea,  and  to-day  am  to 

have  an  interview.  I  see  that  his  mind  is  affected  by  English 
views  of  our  country,  as  it  naturally  would  be.  He  has  not 
been  favorably  impressed  with  the  Cliristian  Alliance, — looks 
on  it  as  interrupting  tlie  silent  attempts  of  the  Evangelical 
Society  in  Italy. 

October  9. 

Called  on  Dr.  Merle,  and  had  a  long  and  free  conversation 
with  him  about  the  condition  of  Switzerland  and  the  Chris- 
tian Alliance.  He  heard  me  most  cordially,  and  seemed  to 
kindle  into  a  degree  of  sj'mpathy.  He  gave  me  a  report  of 
his  speech  at  Liverpool  last  summer,  in  which  he  asked  for  a 
society  to  be  established  in  England  for  precisely  the  same 
object.  He  also  described  to  me  the  society  called  the  Gus- 
tavus  Adolphus  in  Germany,  whose  meeting  he  attended  last 
summer,  finding  there  delegates  from  Hungary,  Bavaria,  and 


GENEVA.  139 

many  parts  of  the  Continent,  It  was  got  up  to  assist  Protes- 
tants to  rebuild  decayed  churches,  supply  ministers,  and  be  a 
bond  of  unity  among  Protestants.     He  gave  me  the  name  of 

the  president.  .  .  . 

October  11  (Sunday). 

Went  to  the  Cathedral  to  attend  morning  service.  A  large, 
fat  man  ascended  the  pulpit  in  his  gown,  setting  down  his  hat 
on  the  rim  of  the  pulpit.  In  his  sermon  he  was  animated, 
and  his  voice  deep  and  full ;  but  it  seemed  to  be  animation 
without  nnction,  and  better  fitted  for  a  lecture  than  a  sermon. 
In  the  middle  of  his  sermon  he  stopped,  turned  round,  took 
his  red-and-yellow  handkerchief  out  of  his  hat,  and  blew  his 
nose.  The  audience  blew  a  response ;  then  all  sounds  of  the 
like  nature  were  over  till  the  close.  A  very  good  practice ! 
Many  of  the  gentlemen  wore  their  hats  through  the  sermon. 
The  audience  was  scarcely  more  than  half  as  large  as  my  own 
at  Hartford, — for  this  great  Cathedral,  in  which  they  were  so 
thinly  sprinkled!  Spirit  of  Calvin,  where  art  thou?  Is  not 
this  falling-off  the  penalty  of  Calvin's  intolerant  spirit,  and, 
in  Germany,  of  the  violent  spirit  of  Luther?  Doubtless  both 
embraced  errors ;  but  if  they  had  breathed  only  the  spirit  of 
love  and  meekness,  w^ould  the  following  ages  have  become 
thus  weaned  from  them  ? 

To  his  Daughter. 

Geneva,  October  6, 1845. 
My  dear  Child, — Your  mother  has  said  to  me  once  or 
twice  that  you  were  preparing  a  letter  for  me.  I  should  be 
most  happy  to  receive  one  as  good  as  you  can  write, — partly 
because  I  love  you,  and  partly  because  it  will  do  you  good  to 
compose  it.  I  have  thought  many  times  of  the  possibility 
that  I  may  never  see  you  again ;  in  which  case  I  should  wish 
very  much  to  have  left  you  a  father's  message  and  counsel; 
and  it  is  this,  in  part,  which  moves  me  to  w^rite  to  you  now. 
I  expect,  of  course,  to  see  you  again  after  a  few  months  are 
past;  but  you  know,  my  dear  child,  that  we  are  certain  of 
nothing  in  this  world.  How  much  I  long  to  see  you  I  cannot 
tell.     ]S^o  earthly  prospect  is  so  bright  to  me  as  to  be  once 


140  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

more  in  our  pleasant,  happy  home,  where  I  may  hear  the 
voices  of  my  dear  children,  and  see  them  gathered  at  our  sim- 
ple table,  saying  Father  and  Mother  as  before  I  left  them. 
I  think  of  you  at  night ;  every  child  and  family  calls  you  to 
mind  by  day.  I  tell  the  French  people  and  the  German  peo- 
ple by  signs,  —  for  I  cannot  speak  their  language,  —  that  I 
have  three  daughters  at  home, — one  so  long,  another  so  long, 
and  another  so  long.  The  fathers  and  mothers,  I  find,  will 
understand  me  ;  for  they  know  how  fathers  and  mothers  feel, 
and  they  show,  by  their  smile  of  sympathy,  how  quick  they 
are  to  catch  my  meaning.  Your  dear  mother  tells  me  that 
you  are  now  at  your  studies  at  home,  and  are  doing  well  in 
them.  This  I  rejoice  to  hear.  I  want  to  have  you  get  a  good 
knowledge  of  Latin  and  Greek,  and  then  of  French  and  Ger- 
man. The  very  first  day  that  I  went  out  in  Geneva  to  call 
on  a  gentleman,  two  lovely  daughters  were  interpreters  be- 
tween me  and  their  mother.  They  spoke  English  very  well 
indeed  ;  and  it  gave  me  so  much  happiness,  as  a  lonely  stran- 
ger unable  to  speak  their  language,  that  I  could  not  but  wish 
that  my  dear  daughter  might  be  able  hereafter  to  make 
somebody  else  as  happy  as  they  made  me,  and  thus  repay  my 
obligations.  You  are  now  precisely  of  the  age  to  study,  and 
there  is  nothing  I  so  much  desire  for  you  on  earth  as  that 
you  may  have  a  truly  accomplished  mind  and  character.  I 
do  not  wish  to  excite  in  you  any  wrong  or  bad  ambition,  and 
yet  I  wish  you  to  feel,  as  you  grow  up,  that  you  are  not 
doomed  to  any  low  or  vain  calling  because  you  are  a  woman. 
I  have  no  son  upon  M'hom  I  can  lean,  or  in  whose  character 
and  success  I  can  find  pleasure.  God,  you  know,  has  taken 
away  the  one  that  was  so  dear  to  us  all.  Therefore  I  desire 
the  more  to  have  daughters  whom  I  can  respect,  and  in  whose 
beautiful  and  high  accomplishments  I  can  find  a  fathers  com- 
fort. You  cannot  be  a  soldier  or  a  preacher;  but  I  wish,  in 
the  best  and  truest  sense,  to  have  you  become  a  woman.  This 
you  cannot  be  without  great  and  patient  cultivation  of  your 
mind;  for  neither  man  nor  woman  has  any  basis  of  character 
without  intelligence.  You  must  be  able  to  maintain  intelli- 
gent conversation  ;  and  this  requires  a  great  deal  of  intelli- 


AN  IDEAL  OF  WOMANHOOD.  141 

gence  of  every  sort,  and  the  more  in  a  woman,  because  she 
must  not  seem  to  be  book-wise  and  scientific,  as  men  may  do, 
but  to  have  her  fund  in  herself,  and  speak  on  all  subjects 
as  if  she  had  the  flavor  of  all  knowledge  in  herself  naturally. 

But  if  intelligence  is  necessary  to  make  a  fine  woman,  other 
things  are  quite  as  necessary.  Her  mind  and  heart  must  be 
perfectly  pure,  as  that  of  infancy.  She  must  be  the  very  ex- 
pression of  modesty,  and  without  the  least  affectation  in  her 
manners.  Here  the  best  rule  is  always  to  feel  beautifully, 
and  she  will  act  beautifully,  of  course ;  whereas  if  she  under- 
takes to  fashion  her  manners  by  rule  or  to  copy  others,  she 
will  as  surely  be  stiff  and  affected.  As  to  her  looks,  she  will 
look  best  if  she  is  never  conscious  that  she  has  any  looks  at 
all,  provided  only  that  she  has  enough  beauty  and  refinement 
of  feeling  to  clothe  her  person  out  of  it ;  for  dress  itself  is 
never  happy  or  becoming  if  it  is  not  the  natural  clothing  of  a 
lovely  spirit.  As  to  temper,  a  woman  should  never  seem  to 
have  any.  A  sharp  temper  pricks  through  the  garment  of 
softness,  and  it  seems  to  be  only  a  covering  of  thorns, — of 
which  the  observer  will  be  duly  cautious.  She  ought  never 
to  vent  or  entertain  a  harsh  judgment  of  others,  but  to  cast  a 
mantle  of  sweetness  and  charity  over  all  she  looks  upon ;  for 
harsh  judgments  savor  of  passion,  and  imply  a  kind  of  gross- 
ness  which  is  unbecoming  to  a  woman.  Study  contentment, 
look  on  nothing  with  envy ;  for  it  is  half  the  merit  of  a  fine 
woman  that  she  can  bear  so  much  with  so  beautiful  a  spirit. 
The  bright  side  of  life  is  in  her ;  therefore  she  is  to  make  ad- 
versity and  loss  smile  by  her  patience.  The  angel  who  comes 
down  to  cry  peace  and  good-will  to  mortals  must  not  fret 
himself  because  there  are  clouds  in  his  way ;  and  if  his  locks 
are  wet  by  the  rain  or  singed  by  the  thunder,  he  will  not  jus- 
tify thq  beauty  of  his  message  if  he  is  not  able  still  to  smile 
and  to  sing. 

Do  nothing  to  excite  admiration,  for  that  is  the  way  to  ex- 
cite contempt,  and,  what  is  more,  to  deserve  it.  The  woman 
who  flatters,  and  fawns,  and  studies  her  methods  to  attract  the 
admiration  of  others  seems  to  ask  for  it,  and,  in  asking,  to 
confess  that  it  can  be  gotten  only  by  means  that  are  without 


142  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

the  scale  of  merit.  The  humblest  flower  is  never  so  unwise. 
It  o-ives  out  its  colors  and  sheds  its  frao;rance  in  the  air  be- 
cause  it  has  the  secret  stores  of  color  and  fragrance  in  its  sap, 
and  not  to  please  some  casual  observer.  Above  all,  the  fine 
woman  must  be  unselfish.  AVe  demand  that  she  shall  seem 
to  have  alighted  here  for  the  world's  comfort  and  blessing, 
and  all  the  ways  of  selfishness  are  specially  at  variance  with 
her  beautiful  errand. 

I  have  said  nothing  thus  far,  my  child,  of  M'hat  is  the  first 
and  radical  ground  of  security  for  all  that  I  commend ;  viz., 
that  a  woman  should  be  a  Christian.  Her  character  should 
be  the  very  blossom  and  flavor  of  piety.  No  goodness  or 
beauty  is  truly  natural  which  is  not  the  flower  of  this  germ 
in  the  soul.  Most  men  agree  that  a  looman  ought  to  be  re- 
ligious, in  which  they  say  more  than  they  think,  both  for 
woman  and  for  religion.  What  is  that  without  which  the 
most  perfect  loveliness  cannot  be  made  to  subsist  ?  And 
what  is  she  whose  character  can  be  finished  only  by  assimi- 
lation to  God?  To  be  conscientious  in  duty,  to  go  on  er- 
rands of  charity  to  the  poor,  to  have  the  passions  laid  and 
the  tempers  sweetened  by  a  habit  of  prayer,  to  draw  from 
the  fountain  of  truth  that  truthful  habit  wdiich  expels  all  af- 
fectation and  makes  a  creature  at  once  confiding  and  worthy 
of  confidence,  —  this  is  the  soul  of  all  that  enters  into  a 
woman's  accomplishments ;  and  without  this  her  accomplish- 
ments must  want  a  soul,  which  is  the  most  grievous  of  con- 
ceivable wants.  Therefore  I  am  anxious,  my  dear  daugliter, 
that  you  should  begin  the  Christian  life  now  and  grow  up 
in  it.  If  I  have  proposed  to  you  something  angelic  in  the 
model  of  a  w^oman,  I  am  far  enough  from  believing  that 
any  mere  self-cultivation  will  enable  you  to  reach  it.  Such 
is  man  and  woman,  such  all  human  nature,  that  only  grace 
can  raise  it  into  beauty  and  true  goodness.  Man  is  not  so 
good  or  susceptible  to  good  that  he  can  fill  out  the  ideal  of 
goodness  without  proximity  to  God,  or  drawing  himself  up 
to  his  mark  by  the  assimilating  power  of  God's  love  and 
communion.  Besides,  I  do  not  see  that  there  is  anything 
angelic  in  the  earthly  lot  of  either  man  or  woman,  unless 


CROSSING  THE  SIMPLON.  143 

tliat,  in  the  midst  of  much  deformity  and  sorrow,  he  may  as- 
pire to  be  an  angel. 

In  a  few  years,  my  child,  I  shall  probably  leave  you  and 
the  world  together.  I  know  not  what  roughness  may  be  in 
your  lot  after  I  am  gone,  or  what  wrongs  and  sorrows  may 
fall  upon  you.  And  you  must  bear  them  as  a  woman.  Your 
victory,  too,  will  be  a  woman's  only— the  victory  of  patience, 
purity,  and  goodness.  God  only  can  be  your  sufficient  de- 
fender and  upholder.  And  if,  when  all  these  earthly  trials 
are  over,  I  am  ever  to  greet  you  in  a  better  world,  it  will  be 
only  because  we  are  sanctified  by  the  spirit  of  God,  and  for- 
given through  his  Son.  Be  it,  then,  your  first  thought  to  be 
religious.  Let  your  childhood  be  religious ;  your  girlhood, 
and  thus  your  womanhood, — your  whole  life,  and  thus  your 
death  and  all  beyond. 

I  took  up  my  pen,  not  knowing  that  I  w^as  going  to  write 
you  such  a  letter,  but  I  had  nearly  finished  before-  my  candle 
burnt  out.  The  language  and  the  sentiments,  I  am  aware, 
are  often  beyond  your  age.  But  your  mother  will  interpret 
them.  In  the  mean  time,  as  you  grow  older  and  more  cul- 
tivated, you  will  be  able  to  see  their  meaning  more  perfectly, 
and,  I  hope,  to  respect  them  and  value  them  more  highly. 
I  wish  you  to  keep  this  letter  as  a  fathers  counsel.  It  is 
written  partly  for  the  future.  Perhaps,  when  I  am  gone,  it 
will  be  the  dearest  remembrance  I  leave  you.  To  God,  my 
dear  child,  I  commend  you ;  with  him  I  leave  you.  Farewell. 
Your  loving,  but  not  your  best  nor  only  Father, 

Horace  Bushnell. 

October  15. 
Started  from  Brieg,  at  half-past  two  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing, to  cross  the  Simplon.  I  walked  on  in  advance  of  the 
coach,  alone,  to  get  M'arm,  and  was  so  much  delighted  Avith 
the  solitude  and  the  scenery  that  I  preferred  to  keep  on.  It 
was  a  most  beautiful  moonlight  morning,  and  as  I  wound 
round  the  long  sweep  and  circled  the  promontories,  and  saw 
the  valley  sleeping  and  softening  under  me,  I  felt  that  rising 
of  emotion  which  is  the  greatest  luxury  of  being  to  enjoy. 


144  LIFE  OF   HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

Coming  round  a  high  promontory,  in  a  gully  cut  into  the 
face  of  the  rock  a  thousand  feet  above  the  roaring  gulf  be- 
low, and  two  thousand  above  the  valley,  with  a  snow-covered 
pinnacle  in  front  just  across  the  gulf,  I  said,  "Let  this  be  my 
temple."  And  I  think  I  had  some  of  that  high  and  unearth- 
ly joy  which  a  solitary  traveller  of  old  had  when  he  said, 
"  How  dreadful  is  this  place  !"  Here  I  remembered,  too,  the 
dear  objects  of  m}^  love  in  a  distant  land,  and  the  distance 
vanished.  I  had  them  with  me  before  God.  A  little  after, 
the  sun  began  to  tip  the  mountains  with  gold.  Crossing  a 
high  bridge,  I  climbed  up  a  steep  pasture  across  the  zigzag 
of  the  road,  saving  distance,  and  at  a  solitary  hospice  took  my 
breakfast.  This  was  about  ten  miles  of  climbing.  I  then 
walked  on  to  the  top  of  the  Siraplon,  making  about  eighteen 
miles  on  foot.  Here  I  waited  for  the  diligence  to  come  up. 
It  seemed  to  the  eye  that  we  were  still  closed  in  by  an  ele- 
vation of  two  or  three  hundred  feet,  to  be  crossed  somewhere 
between  the  peaks;  but  we  began  immediately  to  descend, 
and  found  a  narrow  opening  that  was  concealed.  For  about 
a  mile  the  descent  was  rapid,  then  more  gradual  for  a  space, 
till,  coming  upon  a  steeper  brow,  we  looked  directly  into  the 
centre  of  a  vast  pit,  as  into  a  funnel,  to  which  there  certainly 
could  be  no  outlet.  But  at  the  bottom  we  found  the  waters 
had  forced  ojien  a  tremendous  gorge,  and  were  rushing  out 
through  it.  IS'apoleon  had  forced  another  on  their  bank,  by 
tunnelling  through  a  promontory  of  rock,  and  we  and  the 
roaring  waters  took  possession  of  the  foaming,  awful  gulf, 
to  go  through  together.  The  impression  of  grandeur  was 
such  as  I  never  felt;  it  was  so  near  terrible  that  one  was 
looking  for  it,  all  the  way,  to  end.  Nor  was  it  nature  alone 
that  made  this  scene  of  grandeur.  The  mind  adverted  con- 
stantly to  that  man  who,  coming  into  the  throne  of  a  decrepit 
and  worn-out  kingdom,  gave  it  energy  to  shake  the  world  by 
its  arms,  and  to  construct,  in  such  a  region  as  this,  works  of 
art  so  magnificent, — works  so  necessary  to  the  wealth  and 
civil  progress  of  man. 

Coming  out  on  a  platform  some  three  hundred  feet  high, 
I  cast  my  eye  down  the  gulf  at  a  turn  of  the  road,  and  saw 


ITALY.  145 

out  through  it  an  open  gate  into  the  valley  below.  In  a  few 
minutes,  winding  down  the  face  of  the  hill,  we  bade  farewell, 
as  it  were,  to  Switzerland.  In  the  valley,  lighted  up  by  tlie 
sun  back  of  us,  we  looked  upon  a  new  and  distinct  kind  of 
scener}', — a  country  of  vineyards  spreading  up  the  opposite 
hills,  and  dotted  with  white  villas,  vihages,  and  churches;  all 
tlie  foliage  of  a  darker  and  more  luxuriant  hue ;  the  trees 
mostly  oak  and  elm,  festooned  with  vines ;  and  the  vines  of 
the  fields  not  cut  and  tied  up  to  a  bean-pole,  as  on  the  Rhine, 
but  unpruned,  and  spread  out  in  whole  acres  of  arbor.  The 
neatness  and  economical  exactness  of  Switzerland  disappear, 
succeeded  by  a  kind  of  slovenly  luxuriance,  a  profusion  of 
liberty. 

At  Domo  d'Ossola,  a  few  miles  below,  I  stayed  for  the 
night.  There  I  met  at  the  table  a  Russian  colonel,  with  his 
wife  and  daughters.  I  was  the  first  American  he  had  ever 
seen,  he  the  first  Russian  I  had  ever  seen,  both  left  home  on 
the  first  of  July ;  and  he  was  so  happy  in  these  coincidences 
that  he  poured  out  his  heart  like  a  river,  and  his  words  too. 
I  must  take  a  cigar  with  him,  I  must  walk  out  with  him  after 
tea ;  he  must  give  me  his  name,  and  I  should  not  know  him 
if  he  did  not  give  me  his  title, — Colonel  Somebody,  of  the 
Engineers  of  His  Imperial  Majesty  of  Russia.  I  gave  him 
my  card,  and  we  shook  hands,  at  parting,  most  profusely. 

October  17. 

Took  a  boat  alone  for  Porlezza,  to  cross  over  to  Lake 
Como,  leaving  Lugano  and  its  miserable,  dirty  hotels  without 
regret.  Lugano  is  far  more  picturesque  than  Maggiore.  Its 
shores  are  more  beautifully  turned,  more  indented  with  bays. 
The  sides  of  the  hills  covered  with  the  dark  olives  and  the 
bright  mulberries  and  vines,  the  high  rocks"  crowned  with 
chapels,  bell  answering  to  bell,  and  the  chimes  ringing  the 
anthem  round  and  round,  make  it  a  charming  lake. 

The  Mount  St.  Salvador,  south  of  Lugano,  with  tlie  road 
winding  round  its  sides,  and  the  chapel  crowning  its  dark 
green  summit,  and  standing  in  relief  on  the  sky,  makes  one 
of  the  finest  objects  for  the  background  of  a  picture  that  can 


146  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

be  conceived.  Conversing  with  the  boatmen,  I  found  that 
many  of  their  Italian  words  were  Latin,  A  round  pinnacle 
or  turret  of  rock,  rising  out  of  the  water,  they  said  was  a  cas- 
tle di  natura;  and  when  I  said,  "  There  is  no  hateau-d-vapeur 
on  Lugano,"  they  replied,  very  wittily,  that  Como  had  its 
J)ateati-d-vaj)€ur,  and  Lugano  its  hateau-a-sudore.  At  Porlez- 
za  I  took  a  voiture  for  Menaggio,  on  Lake  Como.  The  dis- 
tance is  only  seven  or  eight  miles,  but  this  short  ride  com- 
prised more  of  natural  scenery  than  I  ever  saw  in  a  day. 
Between  Lugano  and  Como  is  the  little  Lago  di  Piano,  about 
a  mile  long,  around  which  the  road  winds,  rising  gradually  to 
a  much  hio'her  ground  than  the  lake.  On  the  roadside  were 
vineyards  hanging  purple  under  their  load  of  grapes, — a  sight 
so  rich  that,  for  mere  sight's  sake,  one  would  regard  the  Tem- 
perance Societies  as  a  barbarism.  On  the  south  of  the  lake 
rises  a  high  mountain,  down  which  the  noonday  sun  was 
streaming,  brushing  the  colors  out  of  its  face  and  marking 
its  way  down  in  pencils  of  light.  I  said  that  I  had  never 
seen  so  beautiful  a  spot  in  my  life ;  but  in  half  an  hour  I 
was  to  take  back  my  say  and  apply  it  over.  I  came  upon 
Como  from  the  top  of  a  high  hill,  three  hundred  or  four  hun- 
dred feet  above  the  lake.  The  hills  stretched  up  and  up,  on 
my  right,  in  green  pinnacles,  fading  away  in  brilliancy,  till 
they  coalesced  with  the  mountain-top  south  of  Piano.  On 
one  or  two  of  these  pinnacles  were  large  circles  of  elms  run 
together  by  vines  and  squared  at  the  top,  creating  a  fantastic 
show  as  the  sun  shone  through  them.  The  grass  was  of  the 
freshest  color,  and  all  the  foliage  of  the  vines  and  trees  was 
so  light  and  feathery  that  the  shadows  fell  on  the  grass  like 
the  trip  of  fairy  feet.  Underneath,  bowered  in  foliage,  lay 
a  village  church,  and  a  few  houses  sprinkled  round  it.  This 
I  supposed  to  be  Menaggio,  on  the  shore  of  the  lake ;  but  I 
found  that  was  under  it,  a  long  way  down,  and  out  of  sight. 
This  mistake  gave  to  the  whole  aspect  of  the  little  church- 
platform  a  kind  of  magical  effect ;  it  was  high  in  the  air,  yet 
on  the  shore,  every  leaf  glittering  joyfully  in  the  sun.  ^o 
words  can  describe  the  wondrous  beauty  of  the  scene. 

Como  is  the  royal  lake  of  the  world.     It  is  occupied  with 


THE  CATHEDRAL   OF   MILAN.  1J:7 

villas  and  palaces  all  the  way,  I  might  say,  from  Como  to 
Menaggio.  The  green  of  the  turf  is  peculiar,  a  bluer,  softer 
green  than  I  ever  saw;  and  that  of  the  vines  and  mulberries, 
when  contrasted  with  the  gray  sage-colored  olive  and  the  now 
rusty  chestnut,  is  exceedingly  brilliant.  Vineyards  are  here 
no  deformity,  though  if  there  were  more  of  the  sweet,  soft 
turf  that  drinks  your  soul  up,  I  think  the  scene  might  be 
more  picturesque.  Still,  in  the  vines,  and  the  light,  airy  foli- 
age of  the  trees,  there  is  a  waving  luxury  of  limb,  a  most  pe- 
culiar and  fascinating  drapery.  There  climbs  a  road  winding 
round  the  ribs  of  the  rocky  heights.  Below  lie  villas  and 
vineyards  basking  in  the  sun ;  high  up,  a  green  patch  of  turf 
lies  naked  between  the  trees.  On  every  top  stands  projected 
on  the  sky  some  chalet  or  belvedere.  Everything  looks  gay 
and  graceful,  as  if  this  were  the  linest  of  all  places  for  sin 
and  passion  and  splendor  to  terminate  in.  But  finer  souls 
would  sing  and  worship. 

Milan,  October  18. 

The  first  place  to  visit  was,  of  course,  the  Cathedral, — this 
is  Milan.  The  external  view,  as  it  bursts  on  the  eye,  is  one 
of  surpassing  richness  and  magnificence.  It  is  a  marble 
mountain  hewn  into  a  forest  of  spires  and  statues.  The  in- 
terior of  the  Cathedral  is  far  more  august  than  the  exterior. 
The  great  breadth  of  tlie  front,  and  the  single  gable,  and  the 
general  straightness  of  the  line,  make  the  latter  seem  low ;  but 
when  you  enter,  the  five  aisles  so  divide  the  platform  and 
diminish  the  space  as  to  give  it  an  air  of  extreme  loftiness. 
Standing  at  the  entrance,  and  looking  down  to  where  the 
purple  light  streams  in  laterally  into  the  back  part  of  the 
choir  above  the  altar,  you  seem  to  be  in  some  grand  scene  of 
divine  creation,  rather  than  in  a  temj3le  of  human  building. 
The  mind  sinks  into  a  kind  of  conscious  littleness,  as  if  it 
were  only  human, — this  more ;  or,  if  not  the  work  of  angels, 
yet  of  some  creatures  of  another  age  and  a  higher  world. 

You  are  not  willing  to  look  away  from  the  whole  to  scan 
the  parts.  You  do  not  wish  to  take  notes  and  catalogue  the 
particulars  of  any  kind ;  and  yet,  if  you  can  bring  yourself 
to  do  it,  you  are  still  more  amazed  and  bewildered.    So  many 


14S  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

statues,  all  in  the  highest  style  of  art ;  so  many  bass-reliefs ; 
such  richness  of  coloring  and  skill  of  distribution  in  the 
vault,  which  hangs  like  a  third  heaven  above ;  the  windows 
so  richly  colored,  and  deepening  their  tints  of  light  from  yel- 
low^ to  purple  as  you  pass  towards  the  altar  ;  and,  if  you  can 
descend  to  this,  the  massive  candelabra  of  bronze  made  up, 
high  as  the  eye  can  reach,  of  heads  and  living  forms ;  the  two 
bronze  pulpits,  winding  round  their  columns,  each  as  perfect 
in  its  historic  beauty  as  the  shield  of  Achilles  ;  every  pillar 
crowned  wuth  a  fillet,  containing  in  the  richest  canopies,  all 
dissimilar,  rows  of  full-length  or  even  colossal  statues ;  the 
choir  surrounded  with  caryatides,  interspaced  with  panels  of 
bass-reliefs,  each  of  which  is  a  study ;  and,  if  you  gaze  up  the 
central  tower,  the  whole  peopled  with  majestic  forms,  like  a 
council  of  gods  in  the  upper  w^orld  ; — this,  if  you  can  do,  you 
will  shrink  back  again,  confused  and  lost,  now  in  the  detail 
as  before  in  the  sublime  whole.  As  to  criticism,  you  can  try 
it,  and  find  abundance  of  faults.  Owing  to  the  breadth  of  the 
fillets  just  named,  the  arch  of  the  central  aisle  does  not  set 
gracefully  on  the  pillars.  Some  of  the  w^indows  are  Gothic, 
some  Doric  and  Roman.  The  doors,  majestic  and  magnifi- 
cent in  themselves,  are  out  of  place, — only  massive  forms  of 
the  square  or  Grecian  character.  And,  more  than  all,  if  you 
will  proceed  to  what  is  higher,  you  may  ask  what  relation 
such  a  structure  has  to  the  simple  doctrine  of  Jesus  and  the 
uses  of  a  Christian  assembly.  Still,  the  effect  is  so  great  that 
criticism,  too,  is  overpowered,  and  you  prefer  to  feel.  The 
skin  itself  creeps  with  emotion,  and  you  cannot  hold  your- 
self back  from  the  luxury  of  bewilderment.  The  little  chap- 
el of  St.  Charles  Borromeo,  underneath  the  central  tower,  is  a 
different  kind  of  wonder.  It  is  octagonal ;  the  walls  are  cov- 
ered with  silk  embroidered  with  gold.  Surrounding  it,  as  a 
kind  of  panelled  cornice,  is  a  representation,  all  wn*oiight  in 
solid  silver,  of  the  acts  of  St.  Charles.  In  a  long  case  of 
gold  glazed  with  crystal,  his  bones  lie  clothed  in  a  cloth  of 
gold,  only  the  bones  of  the  face  appearing.  By  him  lies  a 
crosier  of  gold  and  jirecious  gems.  I  asked  the  sacristan  if 
he  carried  that   crosier   when   alive,  to   wdiich   he    replied, 


FLORENCE.  149 

"No ;"  and  I  added, "  This  would  be  non  humilitas,^''^  to  which 
he  assented  by  a  good-natured  smile.  What  homage  to  virtue 
does  all  this  expense  and  labor  express !  Methinks  the  bones 
of  so  good  a  saint  would  be  more  comfortably  lodged,  after 
all,  in  the  low  and  not  fictitious  humilities  of  the  grave. 

How  strange  that  Napoleon,  the  Mars  of  Europe,  the  level- 
ler of  the  xilps,  the  framer  of  a  civil  code,  should  also,  as  a 
principal  agent,  have  set  forward  the  compilation  of  this 
grand  work  of  art  and,  nominall}''  at  least,  of  religion  !  What 
is  not,  where  is  not,  the  monument  of  Napoleon? 

We  visited  also  St.  Nazaro,  M'hich  has  some  beautiful  fres- 
coes by  Sala,  a  young  artist,  who,  as  his  health  was  going  down, 
had  himself  carried  twice  to  the  church,  that  he  might  look 
upon  the  work  he  was  about  to  leave  ;  and  he  M'as  able  to  say, 
"  That  will  do  !"  Oh  that  I,  that  every  man,  when  life  is  wan- 
ing, may  be  able  to  look  back  on  the  works  of  life  and  say, 
that  will  do  !  Here,  too,  is  the  monument  of  Trivulzio,  the 
restless  soldier,  notable  for  the  epitaph  written  by  himself : 
"  Johannes  Trivultius,  who  never  rested,  rests, — hush !"  How 
true  of  all — nunquam  quievit ! — shall  it  be  of  all — quiescit  f 

On  the  first  of  November  he  reached  Florence.  Here  he  had  a  touch 
of  malarial  fever,  and  was  very  ill  for  some  days.  It  was  the  saddest 
and  loneliest  time  he  had  during  his  absence.  As  he  began  to  recover, 
he  tried  to  do  a  little  sight-seeing,  but  said  of  himself  that  he  "  saw 
nothing  so  as  to  describe  it." 

November  8. 

After  the  rain  of  last  night,  a  most  radiant,  sweet  sum- 
mer's day.  Rejoiced  too  in  the  feeling  of  health  once  more. 
Wishing  to  see  something  of  the  country  and  the  natural 
scenery  of  Florence,  I  strolled  out  of  the  Roman  gate,  fol- 
lowed up  a  long  avenue  opening  between  dense  double  rows 
of  cypress  and  evergreen  oaks,  then  turned  off  to  the  left 
from  a  palace  fronting  the  Arno,  and  wound  np  and  up  the 
hill,  between  high  walls,  till  I  reached  the  summit  of  the 
highest  land  in  the  region.     Here  I  found  an  old  convent 

*  Humilitas  was  the  motto  left  by  St.  Charles  for  the  crest  of  the  Bor- 
romean  family. 


150  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

turned  into  a  granary,  and  surmounted  by  a  tower,  -whicli  I 
got  an  old  woman  to  open  to  me.  At  the  top,  above  stone 
walls  and  trees,  burst  upon  the  eye  the  full  glory  of  an 
Italian  landscape.  I  had  glimpses  before  in  ascending, — here 
I  took  in  the  whole  for  a  circuit  of  at  least  one  hundred  and 
fifty  miles :  so  beautiful  a  landscape  without  grass  it  would 
seem  impossible  to  make.  The  olives  are  interspersed  every- 
where with  grapes  which  have  a  very  different  color,  and  are 
generally  run  upon  the  mulberry,  also  a  lively  green.  Here 
and  there,  near  some  great  palace,  will  be  seen  the  dark 
spires  of  cypress  and  dark  hedges  of  oak.  The  whole  land- 
scape is  sprinkled  with  houses,  all,  or  nearly  all,  white,  with 
churches  and  convents  the  same.  Around  these,  and  back 
in  all  the  south,  is  a  country  tossed  up  into  hills;  below  is 
the  great  valley  of  the  Arno,  and  Florence  sleeping  in  it  as 
a  queen.  The  whole  field  is  a  swarm  of  life.  Not  a  patch 
of  grass,  but  the  gray  olive  waving  its  graceful  leaves  of  sil- 
ver, whicli  the  sun  may  settle  on  but  cannot  penetrate;  then 
intermixed,  the  other  thin -leaved,  verdant  vines  and  trees, 
which  the  sun  shines  through  and  lights  up  into  a  smile, — a 
compound  nosegay-landscape,  a  sea  of  combined  colors  and 
shadows,  such  as  we  never  see  in  grass-growing  countries.  .  .  . 
This  evening  is  bright  on  the  Arno,  and  the  moon  shines 
joyfully  from  her  noon  into  my  window.  I  feel  composed, 
tranquil,  and,  in  a  certain  sense,  happy, — the  more  happy  for 
the  love  which  throbs  in  my  heart,  and  sends  me  off  on  wings 
to  the  other  side  of  the  world.  TVould  that  I  could  see  those 
dear  little  images,  signs  of  a  love  more  dear,  bathed  in  their 
soft  natural  sleep  ! 

November  11. 

Spent  the  morning  in  the  Pitti  gallery.  I  go  away  from 
the  place  all  in  a  glow ;  I  seem  to  have  breathed  a  finer  at- 
mosphere ;  and  all  my  good  feelings,  if  I  have  any,  are  invig- 
orated. I  feel  conscious  that  my  eye  is  forming  or  perfect- 
ing, and  I  know  that  it  must  be  a  benefit  to  me,  as  regards 
writing  and  the  conduct  of  life,  to  have  dwelt  in  such  an 
atmosphere  and  received  such  an  influence.  .  .  . 

It  is  a  most  interesting  fact  that  the  painters  and  sculptors 


ART   IN   FLORENCE.  151 

derived  tlieir  arts  from  the  trades,  in  which  they  were  grad- 
ually cultivated,  till  each  became  an  art  by  itself.  The  paint- 
er painted  panels  and  furniture ;  the  sculptors  were  trained 
in  metals,  etc.  This,  I  apprehend,  is  the  law  of  all  healthful 
growth  in  the  fine  arts,  and  it  augurs  well  for  America.  It 
is  no  ill  that  we  are  a  busy  people.  That  is  the  only  way  to 
become  a  most  truly  cultivated  people. 

I  find  I  derive  a  benefit  from  continuing  thus  in  Florence, 
which  is  of  a  peculiar  kind.  I  get  more  initiated  into  the 
historic  movements  and  characteristics  of  the  place.  I  begin 
now,  by  a  few  books  and  considerable  study,  to  understand  the 
history  of  the  arts  and  artists,  and  the  schools  of  art,  which  en- 
ables me  to  see  their  relatious  to  each  other  and  their  intrinsic 
merits.  I  am  conscious,  too,  of  an  intellectual  and  moral  bene- 
fit from  the  study  of  art,  which  gives  me  the  greatest  pleasure 
in  it.  I  never  come  out  of  either  of  the  two  great  galleries 
here  without  a  sense  of  refined  and  elevated  feeling.  I  seem 
to  have  been  in  the  best  society  in  the  world,  and  feel  that  I 
can  better  act  my  part  in  any  society  in  which  I  may  be  cast. 

The  Church  of  San  Marco,  which  is  the  chapel  of  the 
Dominican  Convent,  is  remarkable  as  containing  the  resting- 
place  of  that  prodigy.  Prince  Giovanni  Pico  della  Mirandola ; 
and  the  convent  still  more  so,  as  that  of  the  school  and  frater- 
nity of  the  stern  old  Puritan,  Girolamo  Savonarola,  he  who 
ruled  the  State  so  long  and  so  absolutely  by  his  preaching, 
riding  over  the  Medici  themselves,  lie  was  withal  a  repub- 
lican, as  every  man  who  takes  the  unadulterated  gospel  clear 
of  human  leaven  will  be  like  to  be.  However,  he  seems  to 
have  been  a  little  fanatical, — though  not  because  he  called 
the  Pope  to  reformation  and  the  Church  to  repentance.  I 
went  into  his  cell,  a  little  chamber  with  one  window,  having 
on  the  wall  a  fresco  which  a  no  less  remarkable  character, 
Fra  Angelico,  painted  there.  This  man  is  regarded  now  as 
standing  at  the  head  of  catholic  art.  He  breathed  holiness 
and  divine  beauty  into  colors.  He  is  said  to  have  been  in- 
spired, or  at  least  to  fall  into  ecstatic  states, — a  simple-minded 
saint  of  a  creature,  who  used  the  pencil  only  in  prayer  to 
embody  his  emotions.  And  yet  modern  art,  the  art  of  An- 
il 


152  LIFE  OF  HOKACE  BUSHNELL. 

gelo  and  Raphael,  took  its  spring  from  him  as  much  or  more 
than  from  any  one. 

I  have  traced  liis  hand  in  many  places.  In  the  sacristy  of 
the  old  chnrch,  Santa  Maria,  I  was  shown  the  panels  of  minia- 
ture figures  painted  by  him,  all  religious,  expressing  more  of 
heavenly  beautj^  and  sanctified  feeling  than  I  ever  saw  before. 
Other  churches  are  rich  in  interest ;  but  I  will  only  add 
that,  in  the  Church  of  San  Spirito,  where  I  went  last  Sun- 
day,—  for  I  have  now  become  a  Catholic, —  I  heard,  for  the 
first  time  in  my  life,  an  organ  and  organ-playing.  I  never 
knew  before  what  this  instniment  is  capable  of.  This  organ 
united  a  variety  of  stops  ;  the  bass  had  a  swell  that  made 
every  note  lift  you  up  like  the  articulation  of  a  colossal  voice, 
and  a  chime  of  bells  came  in  at  passages  with  thrilling  effect. 

November  18. 
Visited  the  interior  of  the  Palazzo  Yecchio.  In  the  sec- 
ond story  is  the  grand  salon,  formerly  called  the  hall  of  the 
people.  .  .  .  Rows  of  statues  are  set  on  pedestals  and  placed 
in  niches  round  the  room.  And  these  are,  some  of  them,  the 
grandest  works  I  have  seen ;  more  than  all,  one  group  by 
Michael  Angelo, — Victory  and  Captivity.  A  figure  of  tre- 
mendous volume  and  muscle  grasping  another,  scarcely  less 
muscular,  round  the  middle,  with  the  heels  up,  and  about  to 
sling  him  into  the  sea.  This  latter  has  a  crown  still  upon 
his  head.  Every  muscle  of  the  other  shows  the  effect  of 
weight  and  of  effort,  as  if  he  had  the  moon  in  his  arms.  The 
whole  effect  is  such  as  none  but  Michael  Angelo  could  pos- 
sibly attain  to.  Other  groups  in  the  room  of  a  like  nature 
would  be  considered  prodigies  of  power,  but  this  has  the 
grandeur  of  an  earthquake. 

November  20. 

I  walked  to  take  a  look  at  the  old  Palazzo  Riccarjdi.  There 
the  famous  Academia  della  Crusca  had  their  sittings.  Their 
doctrine  was,  if  I  understand  it,  that  a  certain  number  of 
writers  in  Italian  should  be  selected  as  classic  in  their  lan- 
guage, and  that  no  word  should  go  into  a  dictionary  of  their 
tongue  not  found  in  their  writings  in  that  precise  significa- 


ROME.  153 

tion.     Miserable !     As  if  there  could  never  be  another  classic 
writer  using  words  at  his  liberty  as  the  former  ones  did  !  .  .  . 

The  most  melancholy  thing  about  Florence  is  that  it  is  a 
city  of  dead  art.  There  are  painters  enough  and  sculptors, 
but  there  is  no  fire  in  their  souls.  They  are  overawed  by 
the  laws  and  rules  of  more  ancient  schools.  The  Delia  Crus- 
ca  doctrine,  so  contemptible  in  literature,  is  the  doctrine  of 
the  palette  and  the  chisel ;  and,  according  to  this,  the  days 
of  creation  have  gone  by.  The  rule  of  art  is  to  create  by 
old  rules  and  examples, — in  otlier  words,  to  copy ;  and  the 
modern  school  springs  up  as  a  fungus  out  of  the  dead  body 
of  the  men  of  old.  When  has  the  human  soul  done  anything 
after  it  has  lost  its  liberty  ? 

Rome,  December  3. 

.  .  .  We  entered  by  the  gate  of  St.  John  ■  and  here  we 
were, — the  old,  fantastic -looking  walls  behind  us,  and  the 
splendid  facade  of  the  Church  of  St.  John  before.  Old  Eome 
and  New,  Pagan  and  Christian,  a  sign  of  all  we  are  to  see  in 
the  city,  which  has  its  interest  in  offering  to  the  eyes,  at  one 
view  and  blended  in  every  street,  the  days  mythological  and 
of  Christian  splendor.  Here  sat  the  mistress  of  the  world 
amid  her  temples,  conscious  of  her  power.  To  her  the  eyes 
of  the  world  are  turned.  What  giant  men  have  trod  these 
streets,  what  factions  have  here  brewed,  what  scenes  of  blood 
been  enacted !  How  have  the  legions  and  chariots  of  war 
poured  out  of  these  gates,  what  pomps  of  victory  been  here 
celebrated  !  Here,  too,  came  the  first  emissaries  of  the  cross. 
Paul  trod  these  streets,  and,  by  virtue  of  a  message  not  his 
own,  gave  law  at  length  to  the  mistress  of  the  world  herself. 

December  10. 
Ascended  the  Quirinal  Hill,  coming  out  on  the  Piazza  -di 
Cavallo,  in  front  of  the  Palace.  The  most  interesting  and 
impressive  objects  here  are  the  horses  of  Castor  and  Pollux. 
They  stand  over  a  fountain,  with  a  tall  obelisk  between  them. 
I  was  never  so  profoundly  impressed  with  the  superiority  of 
the  Greek  sculpture  to  the  modern.  These  horses  are  the 
very  horses  of  Job.     Such  an  idea  of  sublimity  in  action  I 


154  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

never  conceived;  and  yet  there  is  nothing  overacted.  By 
each  horse  stands  the  colossal  figure  of  Castor  or  Pollux,  sev- 
enteen feet  high.  'The  horse  is  held  by  no  reins;  but  the 
hand  of  the  figure  being  extended,  as  it  were,  to  seize  the 
head  of  the  animal,  he  is  thrown  back  npon  his  haunches,  his 
forefeet  in  the  air,  his  head  erected,  the  nostrils  expanded ; 
every  muscle  and  vein,  nay,  the  whole  mettle  of  the  animal, 
is  brought  out.  I  stood  riveted  to  the  place  by  delight,  and 
thrilling  with  sublimity.  Here  I  felt,  as  by  a  revelation,  the 
certain  grandeur  of  the  Greek  chisel. 

December  11. 

Yisited  the  Vatican,  spending  my  time  mostly  among  the 
marbles.  There  could  hardly  be  a  greater  show  of  magnifi- 
cence than  such  a  vast  collection  of  art;  even  the  old  Roman 
triumph,  though  it  might  have  more  of  the  tragic  in  it,  could 
hardly  be  more  magnificent.  This  is,  in  fact,  a  kind  of  Eo- 
man  triumph, — as  you  pass  through  it  and  see  a  grander  pro- 
cession of  spoils  than  any  conqueror  ever  brought  back  from 
the  East.  There  is  scarcely  a  great  name  in  Roman  or  Gre- 
cian history  whose  bust  is  not  found  here — not  a  god,  or  god- 
dess, or  nymph,  or  triton,  or  bacchante,  who  does  not  figure 
here.  History,  mythology,  the  dead  and  the  living,  are  all 
represented.  It  would  be  an  interesting  study  of  history 
simply  to  examine  the  busts  of  this  collection,  and  would 
greatly  assist,  both  in  the  apprehension  and  distinct  and  full 
conception  of  character.  On  how  many  monuments  are  the 
Roman  husband  and  matron  represented  in  bass-relief,  hand- 
in-hand,  in  evidence  of  the  old  domestic  fondness  and  fideli- 
ty by  which  the  Romans  were  distinguished  above  all  other 
pagans ! 

I  was  touched  as  my  eye  fell  upon  an  old  inscription  in 
the  wall,  telling  its  short,  simple  story  of  love  and  afi[liction, — 

"  Beatissimse  dulcissimae  conjugi  quae  vixit  tantum,"  etc. 

To  see  that  man  of  old  could  thus  love  and  weep  and  be  af- 
flicted as  now,  brought  me  nearer  to  the  men  of  old  time 
than  ever  before.  They  were  brothers,  said  I,  in  the  common 
afllictions  and  virtuous  sorrows  of  humanity !     At  the  same 


THE  VATICAN  AND  THE  CAPITOL.         155 

time,  it  did  not  very  well  agree  with  this  mood,  into  which  I 
was  surprised  by  the  simple  tale  above  recited,  to  notice  that 
many  of  the  sarcophagi  were  sculptured  over  with  trains  of 
bacchanals  and  their  lewd  revels,  or  with  other  groups  of 
racing,  or  boxing,  or  merriment,  eq[ually  remote  from  serious- 
ness and  affliction.  Why  was  this  ?  AVas  it  to  signify  that 
only  the  cup  could  drown  a  sorrow  so  deep?  I  should  be 
oflad  to  think  even  that. 

The  famous  torso  of  Hercules,  by  Michael  Angelo,  is  good 
in  its  way — good,  doubtless,  in  all  for  which  he  prized  it. 
But  I  must  confess  that  my  admiration  for  Michael  Angelo, 
and  my  sympathy  with  his  taste,  rather  abates  than  strength- 
ens by  what  I  see.  He  adored  muscles,  and  seemed  to  riot 
in  the  display  of  muscular  energy.  This  is  very  well,  but 
muscles  are  not  all  there  is  of  man,  or  even  any  very  consid- 
erable part  of  him.  The  proportions  of  his  architecture  are 
colossal,  that  is,  muscular,  and  not  often  graceful.  In  the 
sharp,  worn  look  of  his  Three  Fates  he  succeeded  admirably ; 
but  the  only  woman  I  have  seen  of  his,  a  painting  copied 
from  his  drawing  of  Yenus,  was  also  a  kind  of  destiny,  a 
sort  of  female  Hercules.  I  cannot  but  think  that  he  was  a 
man  of  a  hard,  rough -hewn  temperament,  and  wanting  in 
that  delicate  sensibility  necessary  to  a  complete  and  universal 
sense  of  beauty. 

December  15. 

We  returned  to  the  Capitol  to  inspect  the  gallery  of  an- 
tique statuary,  .  .  .  There  are  three  children  (in  marble) :  one 
trying  to  put  on  a  mask  ;  another  playing  with  a  swan  ;  and  a 
third,  better  than  either,  startled  by  a  snake  climbing  up  his 
dress,  not  running,  not  screaming,  but  drawing  his  hip  away 
from  the  snake  sideways,  and  looking  over  still  at  what  he 
fears,  unable  to  withdraw  his  eyes.  This  is  the  manner  of 
the  artless,  helpless  creature,  the  true  picture  of  the  innocent, 
guileless  age  which  knows  not  to  fight  nor  to  fly. 

On  the  way  home,  saw  a  little  piper- boy  sitting  on  the 
curb-stone,  with  a  conical  hat,  and  with  his  pipe  in  his  pocket, 
nodding  with  sleep.  His  auburn  hair  fell  in  ringlets  round 
his  face.     We  roused  him  and  called  for  a  tune,  at  which  he 


156  LIFE  OF  IIORzVCE  BUSHNELL, 

rubbed  up  and  put  in  his  reed  and  began.  He  was,  I  think, 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  children  I  ever  saw.  His  dark 
skin  with  the  rose  shining  throngh,  his  sweet,  dark  face,  and 
his  condition,  made  him  a  perfect  picture,  as  good  as  any  I 
have  seen  to-day. 

December  18. 

Arriving  at  the  Vatican,  went  directly  to  the  halls  of  paint- 
ing. I  have  seen  collectioriS  much  larger,  but  none  so  per- 
fectly choice.  The  two  most  noted  pictures  are  the  Transfig- 
uration, by  Eaphael,  and  the  Last  Communion  of  St.  Jerome, 
by  Domenichino,  which  stand  confronting  each  other  as  ri- 
vals. The  latter  is  by  far  the  most  faultless  picture,  and  the 
most  perfect  in  coloring.  The  design  is  one  and  simple.  It 
has  a  centre  of  interest,  and  everything  belongs  to  that  cen- 
tre,— every  look,  and  position,  and  emotion.  Tlie  drapery,  too, 
and  the  colors  are  perfect.  The  Transfiguration  wants  unity. 
It  is  really  two  pictures  between  which  there  is  no  bond  of 
union  or  centre  of  interest.  The  upper  scene,  which  is  the 
most  difiicult  a  painter  could  undertake,  is  executed  with  a 
spirit  and  power  almost  superhuman.  The  supernatural  is 
here  clothed  in  the  natural,  the  spiritual  in  the  terms  of 
physics.  On  the  whole,  Raphael  has  done  the  thing  most 
difficult,  Domenichino  the  thing  most  perfect.  Next,  I  pass- 
ed into  the  chambers  of  Raphael,  which  are  covered  with  his 
frescoes.  These  are  all  badly  faded,  but  a  little  study  makes 
them  look  attractive.  The  charm  is  the  beauty  and  grace 
of  the  figures,  that  action  without  overaction,  that  perfect 
naturalness  which  shows  them  to  live  and  have  a  soul.  The 
beauty  of  Raphael  is  that  he  keeps  uature  to  herself,  and 
only  expresses  what  nature  wants  expressed,  without  the  least 
exaggeration.  The  most  delicate  sentiment  has  its  language. 
Here  is  a  lesson  in  writing  which  I  wish  I  could  receive. 

December  24. 

In  the  Church  of  St.  Peter  in  Chains,  I  found  the  famous 

statue  of  Moses,  by  Michael  Angelo.     It  is  a  sitting  statue, 

and  was  designed  as  part  of  the  monument  of  Julius  11. 

The  statue  has  a  most  marvellous  beard,  reaching  down  to 


CimiSTiMAS  AT   ST.   TETEll'S.  157 

tlie  hips ;  the  arms  and  legs  show  tremendous  muscles,  and 
the  eyes  stare  with  a  very  imperial  and  determined  look.  If 
Moses  were  Pluto,  it  would,  on  the  whole,  be  a  very  good 
Moses.  But  the  look  of  faith  and  spiritual  empire,  the  look 
derived  from  communion  with  God,  the  divine  expression,  I 
did  not  see.     I  should  call  it  an  eminently  unreligious  statue. 

December  25, 
The  great  day,  Christmas !  Taking  an  early  breakfast,  we 
arrived  at  St.  Peter's,  to  wait  two  hours  for  the  beginning  of 
the  service.  [Here  follows  a  minute  description  of  the  cer- 
emonies.] The  music  sounded  better  than  in  the  Sistine, 
because  of  the  distance  and  the  size  of  the  building.  The 
pauses,  and  the  sublime  Amen  swelling  tlirough  the  arches 
and  holding  the  air  for  at  least  a  minute,  were  grand  and  im- 
pressive. At  the  moment  when  the  host  was  consecrated, 
the  commander  of  the  military,  standing  in  front  of  the  lines 
with  his  sword  in  his  hands,  waved  them  down  upon  their 
knees,  and  a  great  part  of  the  assembly  went  down  in  an 
instant,  to  adore  the  body  and  blood.  The  long  pause  of 
silence,  itself  audible,  was  solemn,  if  one  forgot  the  wretched 
mummery  at  the  bottom.  Then,  to  stand  on  the  steps  and 
see  the  cardinals  and  all  the  splendid  liveries  of  the  nobles 
moving  off,  completed  the  pageant.  Tlie  whole  vast  area 
was  a  sea  of  life  and  splendor.  Taken  altogether,  I  suppose 
it  is  possible  for  no  such  splendid  pageant  as  this  to  be  seen 
in  any  part  of  the  world.  As  I  looked  upon  it,  at  the  close, 
considering  how  a  simple  life  of  goodness  and  humility  in 
the  flesh,  as  distinct  from  all  this  as  thouglit  can  conceive,  had 
yet  power  to  set  it  all  in  motion,  I  felt  a  stronger  sense  of  the 
sublimity  of  the  cross  than  they  who  adored  the  host.  But, 
alas !  how  sad  a  compliment,  after  all,  will  the  "exalted  Saviour 
regard  it !  I  looked  round  upon  the  vast  assemblage,  asking 
what  is  the  real  power  of  this  ?  I  may  be  prejudiced  ;  how  do 
the  believers  themselves  regard  it?  And  I  saw  them  chatting, 
and  smiling,  and  staring  in  thoughtless  admiration  on  every 
side, — no  one  look  of  feeling  and  solemnity  seen  at  the  moment 
when  they  fell  down  to  worship. 


158  LIFE   OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

December  26. 

As  ^ve  were  passing  round  the  south  of  the  Palatine  to  the 
Forum,  we  saw  a  multitude  ascending  a  narrow  lane  up  the 
Ceelian  Hill.  We  followed,  till  we  came  to  the  Church  of 
St.  Stephen  the  Round.  It  was  St.  Stephen's  Daj,  and  the 
multitudes  were  passing  thither.  The  church  was  full,  and 
mass  was  performing  at  one  of  the  altars.  This  is  an  old 
structnre  refitted  and  consecrated  among  a  mass  of  ruins,  sup- 
posed to  have  been  a  temple  of  Bacchus.  Most  of  the  peo- 
ple were  passing  round  to  inspect  the  frescoes  on  the  walls. 
These  are  representations  of  martyrdoms  and  persecutions, 
wrought  with  effect,  and  showing  all  the  forms  of  martyrdom 
with  hideous  particularity. 

Returning  the  same  way,  we  descended  to  the  Coliseum. 
We  heard  a  chant  within,  and  found,  on  entering,  that  a  com- 
pany of  priests  or  monks,  hooded  and  veiled,  were  passing 
round,  making  a  circle  and  stopping  before  each  of  the 
shrines,  bearing  a  crucifix  and  lamps,  and  chanting  a  round 
for  each.  The  chant  was  really  beautiful ;  and  the  scene, 
comprising  a  multitude  mostly  of  women  shifting  their  places 
every  few  minutes,  was  quite  picturesque.  IIow  strange  a 
scene  for  this  place !  What  a  contrast  between  the  imbecili- 
ty of  religious  superstition  and  the  ferocity  of  the  old  time ! 
Passing  over  by  the  Capitol,  we  found  another  multitude 
climbing  up  and  down  the  steps  of  the  Ara  Cceli.  This 
church  is  supposed  to  stand  on  the  site  of  the  old  Temple 
of  Jupiter  Capitolinus.  Another  tradition  makes  out  that 
Augustus,  at  tlie  very  time  of  our  Saviour's  birth,  was  erect- 
ing here  an  altar  bearing  the  inscription  Ara  Primo-geniti 
Dei.  There,  accordingly,  is  the  place  for  the  bambino  !  We 
entered,  and  found,  on  the  left  of  the  door,  the  bambino  ex- 
hibiting with  all  the  stage  effect  possible.  In  the  front,  near 
the  opening  of  the  recess,  stood  the  Virgin,  dressed  in  robes 
of  gold,  over  the  bambino,  which  lay  in  state,  as  it  were,  ar- 
rayed in  gold  and  jewels.  Near  by  stood  Joseph.  Over- 
head hung  a  whole  heaven  of  divinity, — God  and  the  angels, 
— a  kind  of  semi-transparency  lighted  by  lamps  from  behind; 
and  underneath  opened  a  deep  vista  of  landscape  with  men 


IMPRESSIONS   OF  ROME.  159 

and  women,  so  lighted  as  to  make  a  scene  of  Paradisaic  beau- 
ty. Tlie  thing  was  really  managed  with  exquisite  skill,  and 
the  crowd  of  gazers  was  great  and  eager,  of  course.  Here 
again,  what  work  for  the  site  of  Jupiter  Capitolinns ! 

On  the  whole,  if  I  were  to  set  forth  the  real  character  of 
Kome  to-day  as  compared  with  ancient  Rome,  I  know  not 
how  I  could  do  it  more  vigorously  than  by  what  I  have  seen 
in  these  three  places  or  ceremonies.  In  the  Hall  of  Bacchus, 
the  pictures  of  the  martyrs ;  in  the  Coliseum,  a  roundelay  of 
monkish  chants  before  the  shrines ;  on  the  site  of  Jupiter  the 
Thunderer's  temple,  a  bambino. 

The  following  extract  is  from  a  letter  written  to  bis  wife  shortly  before 
leaving  Rome.  The  note  which  accompanies  it  was  to  bis  little  daugh- 
ter, and  evidently  evoked  by  some  message  from  her : — 

But  you  will  say,  give  me  something  of  Rome.  Well,  what 
shall  I  give?  What  is  there  you  have  not  seen  described  a 
hundred  times  better  than  I  can  describe  it,  or  a  simjDle  en- 
graving of  which  would  not  more  adequately  present  it  to 
you  ?  I  have  seen  enough,  but  what  to  give  you  that  will 
answer  to  your  expectations,  considering  that  I  am  at  Rome, 
I  really  do  not  know.  Besides,  after  all,  it  is  not  single  ob- 
jects that  make  the  interest  of  Rome,  but  the  whole, — that 
which  shows  her  to  have  been  the  mistress  of  the  world  for 
so  many  ages  and  in  ways  so  different.  The  kingdom,  the 
republic,  the  haughty,  victorious  empire,  the  declining  empire, 
the  empire  of  the  Church,  ruins  decayed  and  perfect  ruins 
stripped  and  plundered  to  build  palaces  and  temples,  the  tem- 
ples and  palaces  built,  what  time  has  devastated,  what  the 
barbarians,  w^hat  superstition  and  avarice,  the  arts  of  all  ages 
and  climes,  the  known  and  unknown,  associations  drawn  from 
all  history  tinged  by  associations  of  no  definite  color  and 
which  cannot  be  traced,  —  all  this  it  is  which  makes  up 
Rome ;  not  the  Pantheon,  not  St.  Peter's,  not  any  one  object 
or  many  objects,  in  their  simple  import.  A  traveller  might 
put  himself  to  work  to  describe  St.  Peter's  or  the  Capitol, 
and  feel  when  it  was  done  that  he  had  set  off  the  wonder 
called  Rome ;  but  I  feel  an  utter  disinclination  to  this.     It 


160  LIFE   OF   HORACE   BUSHNELL. 

seems  much  like  showing  a  brick  for  Babylon.  You  will 
judge  from  this  that  I  have  been  greatly  interested  in  what 
I  have  seen  here,  I  shall  go  away  as  fi-om  the  focus  of  all 
human  history,  with  a  new  zest,  I  trust,  for  everything  that 
pertains  to  history,  a  new  sense  of  the  possible  grandeur  of 
human  power,  and,  at  the  same  time,  of  its  certain  vanity. 

My  dear  little  M , — You  say  that  you,  too,  want  a  let- 
ter from  papa ;  and  a  little  one  will  do,  will  it  not  ? 

And  what  do  you  think  are  the  sweetest  violets,  those 
that  grow  in  the  garden,  or  those  that  blossom  in  the  heart 
and  face  of  a  good,  little,  loving  child?  When  your  dear 
father  hears  that  you  talk  of  him  and  remember  him  in  your 
prayers,  asking  God  to  keep  him  and  bring  him  safely  back, 
there  is  no  flower  so  bright  or  sweet  as  that, 

God  bless  you,  my  dear  one,  and  keep  you  from  all  that  is 
w'rong,  that  you  may  always  be  the  violet  to  your  father. 

From  the  Journal. 

Paris,  January  8. 

Went  out  to  Galignani's  after  breakfast,  and  spent  the 
whole  day  in  reading  the  American  news,  particularly  what 
pertained  to  the  Oregon  question,  I  was  anxious  lest  my 
country,  which  I  love  more  dearly  every  day,  might  be  doing 
dishonor  to  itself  by  unjust  demands,  and  precipitating  itself 
into  unnecessary  war.  And  I  am  sorry  that  the  proposition 
of  Great  Britain  to  go  to  arbitration  was  so  peremptoril}'  re- 
jected, I  am  forced,  however,  to  confess  that  our  President 
has  gone  the  whole  length  of  justice  in  his  proposition, — fur- 
ther, indeed,  than  anything  but  a  desire  of  peace  could  re- 
quire. The  argument,  taken  as  a  whole,  is  so  conclusive  that 
really  I  am  half  indignant  at  the  effrontery  shown  by  the 
British  claim.  They  have  no  title  at  all  to  Oregon  worthy 
of  being  named,  and  I  do  not  care  if  they  get  pay  for  their 
rapacity,     I  only  do  not  wish  to  have  my  country  first  in  a 

war  of  any  kind. 

January  15, 

Entered  one  or  two  of  the  courts,  in  one  of  which  an  argu- 
ment before  judges  was  in  progress.     The  judges  were  a  fine- 


THE  riiENCH  PEOPLE.  161 

looking  bench  of  men,  truly;  and  I  will  add  that  I  have 
never  seen  a  body  of  lawyers  whose  look  was  so  healthful 
and  intelligent.  Almost  every  face  was  brilliant ;  and  if  they 
were  dissipated,  as  doubtless  some  of  them  are,  their  vices  are 
never  of  that  class  which  marks  tlie  countenance.  Indeed, 
almost  everything  I  have  seen  of  the  French  is  better  than 
I  had  expected,  save  the  dirt  of  their  churches.  Their  shops 
are  neat,  their  persons  are  neat.  I  am  very  seldom  accosted 
by  a  beggar ;  there  appears  to  be  a  state  of  general  comfort 
among  the  lower  classes,  and  almost  no  examples  appear  of 
squalid  misery.  You  meet  more  beggars,  more  bloated  faces, 
more  of  rags  and  dirt,  in  London  in  one  day  than  here  in  ten. 
I  have  seen  but  one  intoxicated  person  since  I  entered  Paris, 
and  he  could  walk ;  and,  what  is  more  strange  to  me  than 
all,  I  see  nothing  of  that  light  and  fickle  disposition  which  I 
expected.  The  volatile  Frenchman,  always  a  proverb,  I  have 
not  seen.  When  1  came  out  of  Italy,  on  the  contrary,  I 
seemed  to  be  entering  among  a  grave-minded,  thinking  peo- 
ple. All  the  street -scold,  so  perpetual  among  the  Italians, 
disappears.  I  see  a  look  of  care  and  business  on  most  men, 
as  in  the  United  States.  In  short,  it  is  clear  to  me  that  the 
French  character  is  undergoing  a  tliorough  change.  Every 
department  of  life  and  society  is  improving.  Property  is 
now  in  a  better  state  of  distribution  in  France  than  in  any 
other  country  in  Europe.  The  masses  are  more,  the  aristoc- 
racy less, — thanks  to  the  Revolution  and  all  the  tremendous 
experiences  through  which  France  has  been  carried  in  the 
last  fifty  years.  But  she  wants  a  religion ;  and  nothing  is 
more  manifest  to  me  than  that  she  can  never  humble  herself 
to  contentment  under  the  shams  and  mummeries  of  an  unin- 
tellectual  religion.  She  is  outgrow^ing  that ;  and  the  religion 
must  either  change  or  she  will  be  clear  of  it. 

January  21. 
By  the  politeness  of  Mr,  Walsh,  received  a  ticket  for  the 
Chamber  of  Deputies,  to  hear  the  reply  of  M.  Guizot  to  M. 
Thiers,  who  had  attacked  his  policy  of  uniting  with  England 
to  hold  a  balance  of  power  against  the  United  States.  .  .  . 
M.  Thiers  came  in,  a  short,  dapper-looking  man,  with  a  round, 


162  LIFE   OF   HORACE   BUSHNELL. 

flat  head,  and  a  lively  countenance, — full  of  talk,  quick,  all 
mercury.  By -and -by  Marshal  Soult  took  his  seat,  a  rather 
short,  honest-looking,  not  very  striking  octogenarian.  Guizot 
came  in,  wringing  his  hands  and  twirling  his  fingers,  showing 
that  his  mind  was  in  labor  and  with  difficulty  composed. 
He  is  a  thin-faced  and  rather  long-haired  man,  but  tall  and 
slender.  He  does  not,  by  his  looks,  impress  one  with  a  sense 
of  extraordinary  talent.  He  mounted  the  tribune.  The 
president  rang,  and  the  members  clattered  on  their  desks  and 
hissed,  in  which  the  galleries  helped,  till  by-and-by  the  mov- 
ing and  talking  lulled  away,  and  the  speaker  began,  leaning 
on  the  tribune  with  both  elbows.  He  grew  more  animated 
and  lively,  rose  up,  grappled  his  handkerchief  as  one  not  quite 
at  ease,  set  both  hands  going  in  gesture,  and  thickened  his 
words.  Now  and  then  a  growl  of  applause  or  negation  broke 
out,  and  all  was  confusion  till  the  same  old  process  restored 
silence.  On  his  undertaking  to  state  the  sentiments  of  M. 
Thiers,  the  latter  rose  to  explain  or  correct  him,  and  spoke 
about  two  minutes,  with  a  husky  but  shrill  treble,  John  Ran- 
dolph-wise, full  of  fire  and  enthusiasm,  gesturing  up  and 
down  with  both  hands  as  fast  as  he  could.  Then  Guizot  re- 
sumed, more  impassioned  than  ever,  and  went  on  to  his  con- 
clusion, occupying  in  all  a  little  less  than  an  hour.  The 
house  was  full,  and  the  audience  keenly  alive  to  the  discus- 
sion. What  a  proud  thing  for  the  American,  standing  here 
as  a  stranger,  to  see  his  new  country  rising  in  its  great- 
ness before  the  world !  Here  he  stands  to  hear  the  debate 
which  begins  to  reveal  the  jealousy  of  power  and  to  show 
that  thrones  are  quaking  lest  the  great  republic  should  over- 
shadow monarchy  and  legitimacy. 

Would  that  I  could  have  understood  the  words  of  the 
speakers  !  One  thing,  however,  I  account  certain  on  physio- 
logical principles,  that  so  much  of  short,  rapid  gesture  from 
the  elbow  cannot  be  connected  with  great  depth  of  sentiment 
or  the  highest  dignity  of  matter. 

lie  reached  London,  for  tbe  second  time,  on  the  first  of  February. 
Here  he  remained  for  two  months,  lengthening  out  his  stay,  week  l)y 
week,  as  he  became  more  and  more  interested  in  his  life  there.     A  whole 


KETUIIN   TO  LONDON.  163 

volume  of  his  journal  is  given  to  this  sojourn.  He  completed  and  re- 
corded most  thoroughly  all  the  sight -seeing  of  the  great  city;  but  a 
greater  gratification  to  him  was  the  fulfilment  of  his  wish  "  to  come 
into  acquaintance  with  men."  He  attended  many  gatherings,  religious 
and  jjolitical,  and  was  received  socially  in  a  way  very  kindly,  and  very 
agreeable  to  him,  making  many  acquaintances  and  some  friends.  Yet 
this  alone  would,  perhaps,  hardly  have  contented  him,  so  accustomed 
was  he  to  put  his  own  stamp  on  all  he  saw,  and  thought,  and  did ;  but 
here,  in  a  land  akin  to  his  own  and  speaking  his  own  tongue,  he  found 
a  vent  for  all  that  vivid  mental  activity  that  had  been  so  long  repressed 
and  dumb  in  lands  foreign  in  thought  and  sijeech.  He  led  as  busy  a 
life  of  his  own,  there  in  old  London,  as  he  could  have  done  in  Hartford, 
and  won,  towards  the  close  of  his  stay,  a  larger  recognition  than  might 
have  been  expected  for  a  man  then  comparatively  vinknown.  His  "  Let- 
ter to  the  Pope"  was  published  in  England.  He  also  wrote  and  pub- 
lished there  an  article  on  the  "Oregon  Question," which  excited  a  good 
deal  of  interest.  Besides  this,  he  preached  a  good  many  times,  and  his 
sermon  on  Unconscious  Influence.,  afterwards  one  of  the  best  known  of  the 
"  Sermons  for  the  New  Life,"  was  delivered  in  London,  in  the  pulpit  of 
the  Rev.  Mr.  Morris,  and  was,  by  request,  first  published  there. 

To  his  Wife. 

London,  February  1, 1846. 

I  give  yon  here  a  little  appendix,  to  say  that  I  arrived  in 
London  yesterday,  stopping  at  Rouen  and  Havre  on  my  way. 
It  really  seems  like  getting  home,  to  be  where  I  can  once 
more  have  the  liberty  of  speech.  I  had  thought  of  going 
over  to  Ireland,  but  I  am  tired  of  running  after  sights,  and 
it  seems  a  little  anti-climactic,  after  seeing  the  greatest  won- 
ders of  the  civilized  world,  to  finish  off  with  a  peep  at  Irish- 
men. I  think  I  shall  wait,  therefore,  and  let  Pat  come  and 
see  me,  which  you  know  he  is  like  enough  to  do ;  and  if 
he  does  not  bring  swate  Erin  with  him,  he  is  very  likely  to 
bring  his  fine  art,  ^'.e.,  his  shovel.  To-day  is  Sunday.  I  have 
been  out  to  the  Temple  church.  The  service"  in  this  church 
is  remarkable  on  account  of  the  music;  all  the  responses  are 
made  by  the  choir.  I  have  heard  no  music  anywhere,  of 
a  sacred  order,  so  moving.  There  was  a  certain  lioly  pathos, 
a  breathing  of  sanctified  antiquity,  in  the  litany  and  some 
of  the  chants,  w^hich  it  was  hard  to  resist.  It  was  delightful, 
in  passing  through  the  streets,  to  see  the  shops  all  closed 


164  LIFE   OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

and  tlie  business  stopped,  the  streets  quiet  and  clear  of  idlers 
and  loafers,  and  the  people  going  forth  with  their  families 
to  church.  I  seem  to  have  found  a  people,  once  more,  who 
have  a  sense  of  religion.  Both  London  and  the  people  im- 
press me  more  favorably  on  returning  from  the  Continent. 
There  is  a  good  deal  of  feeling,  both  here  and  in  France,  iiL 
reference  to  the  Oregon  question.  I  think  that  the  English 
never  looked  upon  our  country  with  so  much  hostility.  Still, 
I  hope  that  two  such  nations  will  not  be  permitted  to  exhibit 
their  folly  by  years  of  strife  and  blood,  for  the  sake  of  a  ter- 
ritory so  M'orthless.  If  I  should  be  taken  prisoner  here,  I 
beg  you  will  send  over  my  trunk  of  sermons  and  some  pump- 
kin seed ;  for  I  must  try  to  set  up  as  a  Yankee  parson.  And 
I  don't  know,  in  such  a  case,  how  I  shall  get  on  without  you, 
— you  in  the  double  capacity  of  a  critic  for  the  sermons  and 
a  director  of  the  pies.  But  nonsense  apart,  I  have  now  be- 
gun to  stretch  my  thoughts  homewards.  I  seem  to  have 
reached  the  western  shore,  and  to  be  standing  there  ready  to 

embark. 

February  11. 

I  tried  yesterday  to  get  into  the  House  of  Commons.  Went 
to-day,  at  half-past  one  o'clock,  and  took  my  seat  in  the  lobby, 
where  many  had  been  waiting  for  an  hour,  to  wait  till  I 
might  take  my  turn  to  get  into  the  House.  About  half-past 
three  o'clock  we  were  graciously  allowed  to  go  in  by  pairs 
and  take  our  seats,  where  we  must  wait  till  five,  before  the 
House  wonld  be  through  with  petitions  and  ready  to  go  on 
with  the  debate ;  and  we  must  not  read,  because  it  would  be 
a  disrespect  to  the  House !  There  was  the  House  running  out 
and  in,  lounging  on  the  benches,  with  hats  on,  talking,  laugh- 
ing, reading  at  their  pleasure.  Above  is  a  little  gallery, 
where  a  hundred  men  are  penned  like  sheep,  with  four 
watch-dogs  set  to  take  care  of  them,  to  cry,  "  Sit  down,  sir!" 
if  one  raised  himself  two  inches  to  look  over  the  breastwork; 
to  cry,  "  Shut  up  that  book !"  if  a  luckless  fellow  tried  to  re- 
lieve the  tedium  of  the  place.  My  soul  boiled  under  a  sense 
of  insult.  I  had  a  ticket ;  and  as  three  times  as. many  tickets 
are  given  as  there  are  places,  the  holders  must  wait  for  a  seat, 


QUESTIONS  OF  THE  DAY.  165 

and  tlie  most  patient  will  get  it,  exhausted,  however,  by  that 
time, — all,  when  the  right  number  of  tickets  might  just  as 
well  be  given.  And  now  to  be  thus  meddled  with  and  in- 
sulted finished  my  patience.  The  debate  was  very  dull,  save 
that  there  was  a  little  gentle  fire  in  the  first  speech.  Then 
came  one  flat  after  another,  till  I  could  bear  it  no  longer,  A 
neighbor  asked,  as  I  rose  to  go, — "  Do  you  expect  to  return, 
sir  ?" — "  No,  7iever  .^" 

British  Museum,  February  19. 

Noticed  two  portraits  of  Oliver  Cromwell,  one  a  very  good 
painting, — a  tine,  intellectual-looking  fellow,  with  a  look  of 
integrity  and  single-mindedness  which  is  striking.  Compare 
his  face  with  those  of  all  the  kings  in  the  room,  and  they 
look  like  mere  animals.  I  observed  also  the  portrait  of  Har- 
ry Vane  the  younger, — a  modest,  accomplished-looking  man. 
Also,  Baxter,  and  Locke,  and  Newton.  But  the  grandest  form 
of  all,  both  in  moral  and  intellectual  power,  was  old  Oliver, 
— the  hypocrite,  liar,  tyrant ! 

February  23. 

I  called  and  took  breakfast  with  Mr.  Hamilton,  of  the 
Scotch  Free  Church.  He  called  to  give  me  the  invitation, 
days  before,  at  the  request  of  Chalmers.  I  liked  him  very 
much.  He  is  full  Scotch,  and  talked  at  first  in  such  a  flow  of 
Scotticism,  before  he  got  into  possession  of  his  more  artificial 
tongue,  that  I  could  hardly  understand  him.  He  is  very  mod- 
est, not  a  little  awkward,  but  has  a  depth  of  pathos  and  hu- 
mor, and  withal  such  a  fund  of  fine  imagery,  that  he  makes 
the  impression  of  genius  more  than  any  man  I  have  met  here 
— good  genius. 

March  2. 

The  community  here  has  been  a  good  deal  stirred  by  the 
American  question.  But  this  has  rather  given- way,  just  now, 
to  the  great  corn  question  and  the  news  from  India.  The 
Corn -Laws  will  be  repealed.  The  Commons  have  already 
given  their  vote  to  this  effect,  with  ninety- seven  majority. 
Peel  made  a  most  splendid  speech  on  the  subject.  England 
has,  in  this  step,  taken  the  lead  of  free-trade  legislation  before 
all  the  world;  strange  as  it  may  seem,  this  matter-of-fact, 


166  LIFE   OF   HOliACE   BUSHNELL. 

slave-to-precedent  people  Lave  really  embarked  on  a  princi- 
ple, a  theory !  To  my  mind,  no  nation  would  have  been  less 
likely  to  do  it,  and  yet  it  is  done,  —  all  honor  to  the  doer. 
The  East  India  affair  is  terrible.  No  battle  so  disastrous  to 
officers  has  been  fought  since  the  great  day  of  Waterloo. 

I  have  been  trying  to  get  hold  of  the  spirit  and  prospects  of 
the  Evangelical  Alliance  movement,  but  I  find  it  exceedingly 
difficult.  It  is  not  difficult,  however,  to  see  that  they  have  no 
sympatliy  with  us  at  present.  Their  minds  are  preoccupied 
with  the  idea  of  union  as  an  object  in  itself,  and  they  do  not 
seem  as  yet  to  have  fixed  on  the  ways  and  means  of  attaining 
it  at  all.  I  think  their  sclieme  is  visionary  and  unpractical. 
They  build  on  a  creed.  They  mean  to  keep  out  all  but  the 
saints, — Unitarians,  Quakers,  slave-holders,  etc.,  etc.  How  they 
are  going  to  work  they  do  not  know.  One  hopes  they  will 
revise  the  Scriptures ;  another  that  they  will  have  good  meet- 
ings every  year ;  and  all  have  a  lurking  feeling  tliat  this  new 
body  will  make  such  a  sea  of  good  feeling  that  all  sects  will 
cast  overboard  their  peculiarities,  and  run  themselves  into 
the  same  mould.  Bishop  Whately  has  required  his  clergy 
to  stand  clear.  The  Free-Church  members  of  the  committee 
have  been  compelled  to  withdraw  for  a  time.  The  prodig- 
ious wave  they  have  raised  seems  to  be  lulling  away.  There 
are  a  great  many  good  men  in  this  movement,  and  they  have 
gone  into  it  with  good  feeling,  but  really  it  seems  to  me  they 
have  undertaken  a  thing  too  high  for  the  wit  of  man.  I  am 
just  about  taking  hold  of  a  letter  to  the  Pope,  which,  if  I  can 
get  it  up  in  a  way  to  suit  me,  I  shall  publisli. 

March  10. 

"Was  invited  to  meet  with  the  Congregational  Board,  or 
Society  of  Ministers,  comprising  all  those  of  London  and 
vicinity.  About  seventy  were  present.  Dr.  Carlyle  intro- 
duced me  to  the  meeting,  and  I  answered  in  a  word.  A  com- 
munication was  read  from  Dr.  John  Pye  Smith,  recommend- 
ing, among  other  things,  that  they  should  open  a  correspond- 
ence with  their  brethren  in  America,  and  remonstrate  with 
them  in  regard  to  the  horrible  and  abominable  conduct  of 
their  President.     [In  regard  to  the  Oregon  difficulty.]     There 


THE  HOUSE  OF  COMMONS.  167 

was  a  great  burst  of  laughter,  and  all  eyes  were  upon  me.  I 
got  up  and  told  them  that  my  brethren  would  be  most  happy 
to  receive  their  communication,  and  would  expect,  of  course, 
to  reciprocate  their  good-will. 

I  have  found  more  intellectual  sympathy  with  Morris  than 
with  any  Englishman  I  have  met.  His  mind  is  on  the  move. 
He  is  not  hide -bound.  His  views  of  truth  are  fresh,  and 
smell  of  thought.  But  he  has  for  this  reason  to  run  the 
gauntlet — he  is  a  most  dangerous  animal !  He  is  a  beautiful 
man,  has  an  exquisite  delivery,  and  a  good  deal  of  sharpness 
and  invention. 

March  23. 

Went  to  vespers  at  Westminster  Abbey,  and  heard  some 
fine  music.  I  have  come  to  the  firm  conclusion  that  if  I 
were  to  be  an  Episcopalian  I  would  certainly  have  the  lit- 
urgy sung  or  chanted.  There  is  power  in  it ;  when  read  or 
mumbled  there  is  none. 

April  3. 

Attended,  in  the  evening,  the  House  of  Commons,  where  I 
heard  O'Connell  speak  for  Ireland,  against  the  Coercion  Bill. 
He  spoke  in  a  very  low  tone,  an  almost  mournful  tone,  ex- 
cept in  two  or  three  places,  where  he  kindled  and  flamed  out 
a  little.  And  yet  it  was  a  very  powerful  speech.  It  had  an 
effect  perhaps  better  than  he  ever  made  before.  Whether  his 
manner  was  set  by  design,  or  his  fire  is  burnt  low,  I  do  not 
know, — probably  the  latter.  Sidney  Herbert  made  a  smooth, 
elegant,  almost  super-elegant  speech  in  reply.  He  is  a  sensi- 
ble man,  but  wants  the  masculine  manner.  Lord  John  Rus- 
sell made  a  speech.  He  is  a  slow,  rather  plain-looking  man, 
short,  honest,  and  Yankee-like  in  his  way.  Speaks  very  slow- 
ly, and  is  not  fluent  or  easy ;  and  yet  he  showed  a  good  deal 
of  power.     He  says  "  havin',"  "  walkin',''  etc.     " 

To  his  Wife. 

London,  April  10,  1846. 
...  I  preached  twice  last  Sabbath,  and  am  engaged  to 
preach  on  Sunday  evening  next.     On  Monday  I  attended  a 
meeting  of  the  ministers  and  theological  students  of  London 

12 


168  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

and  its  vicinity,  and  heard  a  sermon,  the  subject  of  which 
was  discussed  afterwards ;  and  being  called  upon  to  speak,  I 
dared  to  controvert  a  little  something  that  had  been  said.  I 
trembled  like  a  fool  when  I  got  np,  but  succeeded,  I  believe, 
very  well.*  I  have  been  requested  to  publisli  my  sermon  on 
Unconscious  Influence,  and  am  now  preparing  it  for  the  press. 
My  "  Letter  to  the  Pope  "  has  been  kept  back,  but  it  is  just 
now  published.  I  hear  well  of  it.  It  is  a  little  too  long,  and 
perhaps  a  little  too  hard  on  the  old  gentleman.  .  .  . 

I  am  learning  here  how  to  estimate  myself  with  more  mod- 
esty. I  had  lived  in  a  sphere  where  I  was  everything,  had 
never  gone  out  of  my  sphere  to  see  how  the  broad  world 
looked.  Here  I  am  in  London,  and  who  am  1  here  ?  It  is 
good  for  me — I  feel  it  to  be  good  ;  in  one  view,  just  the  thing 
I  wanted.  It  does  not  crush  me  or  anything  like  that ;  but 
it  shows  me  what  a  speck  I  am.  Anything  that  makes  us 
know  the  world  better,  and  our  relations  to  it,  the  ways  of 
reaching  mankind,  what  popularity  is  worth,  how  large  the 
world  is,  and  how  many  things  it  takes  to  fill  it  with  an  influ- 
ence ; — anything  which  sets  a  man  practically  in  his  place,  is  a 
mental  good,  a  good  of  manners,  of  feeling, — dignity  itself.  . . . 
I  attended  another  party  last  Tuesday  evening.  I  am  also 
engaged  to  dinner  on  Tliursday,  as  well  as  Wednesday, — yes, 
and,  as  I  just  remember,  on  Monday  too.  I  want  exceeding- 
ly to  stay  through  the  Anniversaries,  but  shall  be  off  just  as 
they  begin.  Oh  my  dear,  dear  home !  I  am  sure  that  when 
I  reach  it  I  shall  know  something  of  what  it  is  to  have  found 
that  rest,  for  which  our  mortal  hearts  so  often  sigh,  on  the 
heavenly  shore.  To  be  thus  a  pilgrim,  to  go  roving  round 
the  world  among  strangers,  far  from  home,  separated  for  so 
many  months  from  all  that  is  dear  on  earth, — what  so  much 
like  the  rest  of  the  soul  when  its  pilgrimage  is  over,  as  to  re- 
turn and  clasp  those  we  love,  and  then  rest  again  I  Have 
patience,  my  dearest ;  have  patience,  my  children.     If  time 

*  It  appeared  that  this  little  speech  delighted  the  students  present  by 
its  freshness,  and  perhaps  by  its  antagonism  to  certain  teacliings  which 
needed  the  ventilation  of  some  breeze  of  new  thought.  They  crowded 
about  him  after  the  meeting  was  over,  and  expressed  their  pleasure. 


DEPARTURE  FROM  ENGLAND.  169 

loiters,  yet  he  goes,  and  may  God  keep  us  all  under  his  lov- 
ing smile  till  the  day  shall  come.  Give  my  best  love  to  my 
people,  and  tell  tliem  that  I  want  to  see  both  them  and  ray 
work. 

April  28. 

Morris  came  down  in  the  morning,  and  went  to  the  station 
of  the  railroad  and  out  to  Woking.  I  parted  at  last  from  my 
dear  friend  with  the  greatest  tenderness  and  regret.  Would 
that  I  might  see  him  again  in  the  United  States !  I  feel  that 
I  have  made  a  contact  with  England,  at  least,  and  a  warm  one. 
My  mind  was  occupied  on  the  way  to  Portsmouth  with  a  cer- 
tain high  enjoyment,  which  I  have  rarely  experienced,  at  the 
certainty  of  a  living  sympathy,  so  fresh  and  delightful,  and 
which  time,  I  trust,  will  not  remove ;  and  not  the  less  at  the 
thought  that  now  I  was  off  again  towards  the  dear  objects 
with  whom  the  fibres  of  my  feeling  are  so  deeply  entwined. 
What  a  blessedness  it  is  to  have  one's  soul  full  and  bounding 
with  conscious  exaltation !  Living  unto  God  and  filled  with 
God,  as  here  with  this  world,  it  might  ever  be  so  with  me, 
and  ever  ought  to  be. 

April  29. 

Between  four  and  five  p.m.  embarked.  Farewell,  old  Eng- 
land, probably  forever!  A  magnificent  nation,  great  in  pow- 
er and  character,  and  strong  as  the  bulwark  of  Christian 
truth,  in  all  past  ages.  So  may  it  ever  be.  But  it  has  great 
weakness  and  prejudices,  as  well  as  great  wealth  and  power. 

May  9. 
Up  to  this  time  we  have  had  only  about  six  hours  of  wind 
that  would  suffer  us  to  lie  on  our  course,  all  head-winds  and 
calm  save  six  hours  of  gentle  favor.  To-day  we  had  ten 
hours  of  good  wind,  but  about  noon  it  began  to  veer  towards 
the  head  again.  Immediately  after  dinner  Captain  Morgan 
began  to  haul  down  sail,  and  made  lively  work  of  it,  for  the 
wind  was  waxing  strong  not  slowly.  Within  two  hours  it 
blew  a  gale,  and  continued  to  do  so  for  nearly  three  days — a 
gale  of  wind  dead  ahead.  Next  morning  we  passed  a  wreck, 
a  dismal  sight  enough.  Two  masts  were  standing,  the  rig- 
ging all  stripped  away  save  a  single  rope.     Every  wave  was 


170  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

rolling  over  the  deck,  and  torrents  of  water  poured  out  of 
the  stern  windows  every  time  the  ship  lifted.  Where  are 
the  poor  crew,  who  were  thej,  what  was  their  fate  ?  Did 
tliey  quit  the' ship  before  the  gale,  or  was  she  swept  clean  in 
it?  And  we  were  staggering  on  amid  the  howling  storm, 
to  go  we  knew  not  where,  and  come  out  we  knew  not  how. 
The  rigging  moaned  and  groaned  as  if  partaking  of  the 
gloom  and  melancholy  of  the  hour.  Thus  we  went  on,  rush- 
ing towards  the  pole,  struggling  not  to  lose  our  longitude. 
In  the  night  of  the  third  day  the  storm  blew  out  in  a  tre- 
mendous explosion  of  two  hours,  and  then  stopped  as  sud- 
denly as  if  cut  off  with  an  axe.  I  noticed  it,  lying  in  my 
berth, and  said, "Now  for  a  roll."  And  immediately  it  came; 
and  really  it  seemed  as  if  the  ship  would  roll  quite  over,  first 
one  way  and  then  the  other,  and  everything  movable  on  the 
decks  went  with  it,  pitching  from  side  to  side  and  thundering 
in  fn'o^htful  confusion.  It  was  enouf!;li  to  shake  the  nerves 
of  the  strongest.  The  waves  came  toppling  down  upon  the 
windward  side  of  the  ship  as  if  they  would  bury  it,  and  we 
seemed,  most  of  the  time,  to  be  coasting  under  a  cliff  of  water 
and  along  a  deep  valley.  When  we  rose  upon  the  waves  and 
pitched  downward,  staggering  into  the  gulf,  the  sliip  seemed 
mad  with  fury,  like  a  plunging  bull.  And  when  the  wind  was 
strongest,  the  water  was  blown  so  fine  as  to  fill  the  air  and 
make  it  impossible  to  see  more  than  a  few  rods  at  a  time. 
Two  impressions  crowding  on  the  mind  at  once  make  the  sub- 
limity and  grandeur  of  the  scene.  First,  what  a  straw  is  man 
in  the  hands  of  this  dread  power!  Second,  what  a  wonder  is 
man,  that  he  can  still  hew  out  a  few  planks  and  frame  himself 
a  frail  habitation,  and  commit  himself  to  this  dreadful  power 
and  master  it,  in  the  very  act  of  submission  to  its  laws !  I 
never  enjoyed  any  scene  more  in  my  life.  I  felt  scarcely  will- 
ing to  leave  the  deck  night  or  day,  whether  in  the  rain,  or  the 
sun,  or  the  moonlight,  for  we  had  them  all.  This  was  a  new 
mood  for  moonlight  to  exhibit  its  charms  in.  To  walk  the 
deck  was  impossible,  save  by  a  run  across  it  as  the  ship  was 
caught  in  the  roll.  We  found,  after  the  storm,  we  had  gained 
about  twenty  miles  in  three  days  by  running  up  to  51°  latitude. 


RETURN  TO  HARTFORD.  171 


CHAPTER  IX. 

1846-1848. 

COMING  HOME.— LETTER  TO  THE  POPE.— CHRISTIAN  ALLIANCE. 
—CORRESPONDENCE.— CHRISTIAN  NURTURE,  AND  AKGUJMENT 
FOR  THE  SAME.  — DR.  BACON'S  CRITICISM. —HARTFORD  WA- 
TER-WORKS.—BARBARISxM  THE  FIRST  DANGER.— SKETCH  OF 
DR.  BUSHNELL,  BY  DR.  BARTOL.— LETTER  TO  A  CHILD. 

The  arrival  of  the  Victoria  was  not  announced  in  the 
newspapers,  and  the  children,  who  had  for  days  been  watch- 
ing at  the  window  for  their  father's  coming,  returned  from  a 
walk  witli  their  mother,  one  bright  June  day,  to  find  him  sit- 
ting alone  in  the  house,  waiting  for  the  joyful  meeting.  A 
year's  absence  had  made  him  to  their  short  memories  almost 
a  stranger,  and  tlie  impression  of  him  wliicli  dates  back  to 
that  day  is  therefore  a  vivid  recollection.  One  of  those  chil- 
dren remembers,  as  in  a  picture,  tlie  spare  sinewy  figure,  tense 
3^et  easy  in  its  motions ;  the  face,  then  smoothly  shaven,  show- 
ing delicate  outlines  about  the  cordial,  sweet-tempered  month ; 
the  high,  broad  forehead,  straight  to  the  line  where  it  was 
swept  by  the  careless  hair,  just  streaked  with  gray ;  the  kind- 
ling gray  eyes,  deep-set  under  beetling  black  eyebrows ;  and, 
above  all,  the  abrupt  yet  kindly  manner,  indicating  in  its  un- 
affected simplicity  a  fund  of  conscious  power. 

There  were  many  glad  greetings  that  day  between  pastor 
and  people,  as  well  as  in  the  household.  A  short  space  was 
given  to  talk  and  joyful  interchange  of  experiences,  and  then 
came  the  plunge  back  into  work. 

The  "  Letter  to  the  Pope,"  written  and  published  in  Lon- 
don, had  preceded  him  across  the  Atlantic,  and  was  exciting 
much  remark  among  Pomanists  and  Protestants  on  both 
sides  of  the  water.     It  was  translated  into  Italian  and  widely 


1T2  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

circulated  in  Italy,  and  was  there  recorded  in  tlie  "  Index  Ex- 
purgatorius,"  and  specified  by  proclamation  as  one  of  the  se- 
ditious publications  to  be  suppressed  by  the  police.  By  a 
large  part  of  the  reading  world  it  was  stigmatized  as  a  use- 
less piece  of  American  audacity.  But  it  had  been  written 
under  the  pressure  of  sympatliies  so  powerfully  stirred  by 
the  wrongs  of  an  oppressed  people,  that  the  author  may  be 
pardoned  for  having  forgotten  or  ignored  the  dignity  of  a 
potentate  who  recognized  no  rights  but  those  of  the  Church 
of  Eome.  The  "  Letter  "  is  not  wanting  in  such  courtesy  as 
is  due  to  old  age ;  yet  it  is  pungent,  keen,  and  unsparing  of 
the  truth  to  a  degree  that  makes  even  the  Protestant  reader 
wince  in  sympathy.  Its  very  audacity  gave  it  wings,  and  car- 
ried it  where  speech  of  a  more  commonplace  order  could 
never  have  penetrated.  It  is  useless  to  try  to  estimate  the 
impression  which  it  made  in  Italy ;  but  it  may  have  been 
one  among  the  many  outside  influences  which  have  helped  to 
liberate  the  thought  of  the  Italian  people.  Taking  it  alto- 
gether, we  may  call  the  writing  of  this  letter  to  the  Pope 
one  of  the  most  characteristic  things  which  Horace  Bushnell 
ever  did. 

It  seems  a  little  strange  that  the  publication  of  the  "Let- 
ter" did  not  excite  enmity  to  his  person  among  the  Poman- 
ists  in  this  country  ;  but,  far  from  this  being  the  case,  he  was 
on  good  terms  with  some  even  of  their  priests,  and  especially 
with  Father  Brady,  an  honest,  paternal  priest  of  the  old  sort, 
then  living  in  Hartford — a  man  who  had  in  his  composition 
so  much  of  kindliness  and  Irish  mother-wit  as  to  make  his 
rather  autocratic  rule  over  his  flock  a  really  beneficent  influ- 
ence. Meeting  him  one  day  in  the  street,  shortly  after  the 
death  of  the  Pope,  Dr.  Bushnell  stopped  and  introduced  him- 
self to  him,  when  Father  Brady  exclaimed,  "  Are  you  the  man 
who  killed  His  Holiness,  Pope  Gregory  the  Sixteenth  ?" 

During  the  year  184G,  Dr.  Bushnell  went  to  Boston  more 
than  once  to  meet  with  and  speak  for  the  Christian  Alliance, 
having  still  a  deep  interest  in  the  purpose  of  that  society  to 
rally  the  united  action  of  the  Christian  world  in  a  demand 
for  religious  liberty  in  Italy  and  other  papal  countries.    Prot- 


THE  CHRISTIAN  ALLIANCE.  173 

estantism  was  to  work  not  for  her  own  aggrandizement,  but 
for  freedom  of  religious  thought  and  action,  tlie  world  over. 
This  was  their  idea.  But  when,  in  the  same  year,  the  Evan- 
gelical Alliance  took  form  in  England,  superseding  the  Alli- 
ance already  formed  in  America,  and  replacing  its  practical 
objects  by  great  demonstrations  of  unity  among  the  churches 
of  all  Protestant  sects,  taking  care,  however,  to  guard  that 
unity  by  a  well-defined  and  practically  exclusive  creed,  to  which 
all  alike  must  subscribe.  Dr.  Bushnell  felt  that  the  best  hopes 
and  objects  of  the  Christian  Alliance  had  been  abandoned. 

In  a  cogent  article  written  for  the  New  Eiujlander  for 
January,  1847,  he  tried  to  show  that  some  practical  object  of 
world-wide  interest  was  essential  to  the  enduring  life  and 
growth  of  so  great  an  Alliance.  "  Unity  in  itself,  especially 
unity  conditioned  upon  a  common  catechism,  is  not  an  ob- 
ject. Neither  is  it  a  thing  to  be  compassed  by  any  direct 
effort.  It  is  an  incident,  not  a  principal,  or  a  good  by  itself. 
It  has  its  value  in  the  valuable  activities  it  unites,  and  the 
conjoining  of  beneficent  powers.  The  more  we  seek  it,  the 
less  we  have  it.  Besides,  most  of  what  we  call  division  in 
the  Church  of  God  is  only  distribution.  The  distribution  of 
the  Church,  like  that  of  human  society,  is  one  of  the  great 
problems  of  divine  wisdom;  and  the  more  we  study  it,  ob- 
serving how  the  personal  tastes,  wants,  and  capacities  of  men 
in  all  ages  and  climes  are  provided  for,  and  how  the  parts  are 
made  to  act  as  stimulants  to  each  other,  the  less  disposed  shall 
we  be  to  think  that  the  work  of  distribution  is  done  badly. 
It  is  not  the  same  thing  with  Christian  unity,  either  to  be 
huddled  into  a  small  enclosure,  or  to  show  the  world  how 
small  a  plat  of  ground  we  can  all  stand  on.  Unity  is  a  grace 
broad  as  the  universe,  embracing  in  its  ample  bosom  all  right 
minds  that  live,  and  outreaching  the  narrow  -contents  of  all 
words  and  dogmas."  The  object  which  he  proposes  as  worthy 
of  a  great  society  is  to  "  act  in  behalf  of  man  as  man,  and  de- 
mand for  him  everywhere  full  religious  freedom — to  grapple 
calmly  with  this  great  question  in  all  its  applications,  and 
hold  it  up  before  mankind  as  the  question  of  the  age  and  of 
the  world."     Dr.  Chalmers  had  already  spoken  in  England 


174  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSIINELL. 

with  Lis  accustomed  strength  and  earnestness,  urging  that  the 
impulse  of  unity  ah'eady  given  by  tlie  Evangelical  Alliance 
must  come  to  a  head  in  some  broad,  practical  movement,  or 
be  utterly  wasted.  He  also  felt  that  it  should  be  a  Protes- 
tant movement  for  the  moral  enfranchisement  of  all  peoples. 
He  would  cast  away  the  doctrinal  basis  of  unity,  and  substi- 
tute unity  in  action.  He  would  vindicate  private  judgment, 
try  the  press,  awaken  the  pulpits,  act  on  Parliament,  and, 
above  all,  promote  the  education  of  the  poor.  Thus  in  dif- 
ferent strains,  but  with  a  like  spirit,  two  manly  voices  on 
opposite  sides  of  the  Atlantic  struck  the  key-note  of  a  broad 
and  enduring  progress.  But  the  sound  died  into  silence. 
The  Evangelical  Alliance  remained  what  it  had  been  consti- 
tuted, and  the  Christian  Alliance  of  America  was  absorbed 
into  the  larger  society. 

In  October,  184:6,  Dr.  Bushnell  delivered  before  the  Hart- 
ford County  Agricultural  Society  an  address  on  "Agriculture 
at  the  East,"  which  appears  in  "  Work  and  Play."  The  sub- 
ject was  one  with  which  his  brightest,  freshest  memories  were 
associated,  and  with  whose  practical  aspects  he  was  thorough- 
ly conversant.  The  direct  object  Avhich  he  had  in  view  was 
to  lead  our  farmers,  then  indiscriminately  flocking  westward, 
to  estimate  more  correctly  the  advantages  of  their  surround- 
ings in  New  England,  and  the  latent  possibilities  in  our  soil 
to  be  developed  by  judicious  and  enlightened  tillage.  He 
saw  with  deep  regret  the  gradual  disappearance  of  the  best 
class  of  old-time  farmers,  and  the  abandonment  of  once  thrifty 
estates  to  a  renewal  of  the  forest  primeval.  His  closing  words 
are  these : — 

"  Science  and  society  are  the  great  wants  of  agriculture.  Men  grow 
up  in  the  retirement  of  the  fields  witli  grand  native  capacities,  but  they 
want  some  quickening  stimulus  to  keep  their  minds  alive,  something  to 
awaken  curiosity,  set  them  on  inquiry  and  speculation,  and  bring  their 
rivalries  and  sensibilities  into  active  play.  Having  this,  and  being  men 
of  indejjcndence  in  their  station,  they  will  develop  a  proportionate  dig- 
nity and  power  of  character.  Without  it,  they  sink  into  the  most  de- 
plorable dulness,  and  become  a  backward,  rude-minded  class.  There- 
fore, I  say,  look  to  your  schools,  cultivate  society.  The  soul  of  all  im- 
provement is  the  improvement  of  the  soul." 


DOMESTIC  LETTERS.  175 

The  letters  of  this  year  arc  all  of  a  domestic  character. 
Mrs.  Bushnell,  who  had  felt  the  strain  of  her  husband's  ab- 
sence in  Europe,  broke  down  in  health  after  his  return, 
and  was  away  for  a  time  in  New  Haven,  and  afterwards  in 
New  York  under  a  physician's  care.  Dr.  Bushnell  wrote 
to  her  constantly,  in  as  cheerful  a  tone  as  he  could,  prais- 
ing the  two  children  at  home,  boasting  of  his  success  as  a 
house-keeper  and  a  nurse,  and  urging  her  to  stay  till  recov- 
ery was  assured.  From  the  nursing  expedients  to  which  he 
resorted,  in  slight  cases  of  illness,  with  the  children,  such  as 
the  foot-bath,  the  hot  brick,  the  low  diet,  and  curtailed  les- 
sons, we  judge  that  he  was  a  sensible  doctor,  as  well  as  a  kind 
and.  watchful  father.  In  his  preaching  we  shall  see  that  his 
mind  was  striking  out  on  a  fresh  line  of  thought,  which  de- 
veloped, in  later  years,  into  his  book  on  the  "Moral  Uses  of 
Dark  Things." 

To  his  Wife. 

Hartford,  Sunday,  November,  1846. 

My  dear  Mary,  —  I  got  your  letter  from  the  office  last 
evening,  and  now  I  occupy  a  space  between  my  morning  and 
afternoon  service  to  get  a  few  words  ready  for  the  mail  of 
the  morning.  I  have  just  been  preaching  what  I  think  is  a 
pretty  good  sermon  for  me,  certainly  a  long  one,  prepared 
since  my  return, — subject,  the  moral  uses  of  want.  I  reach- 
ed home  Thursday  morning,  having  missed  the  morning  cars 
of  Wednesday,  by  some  false  reading  of  the  advertisement. 
The  children  were  glad  to  see  me,  of  course,  little  D cry- 
ing from  the  top  of  the  stairs,  as  I  came  in,  "  Oh,  father,  is 
that  you !"  as  loud  as  she  could,  and  almost  tumbling  down 
the  stairs  to  get  her  kiss.  I  was  deeply  touched  by  the  affec- 
tionate hunger  of  her  little  soul,  as  j^ou  would  "be  often  could 
you  see  her  little  face  droop  and  darken  with  the  inquiry, 
"  When  will  mother  come  back  ?" 

Nothing  important  was  done  at  the  meeting  of  the  Chris- 
tian Alliance  in  Boston,  though  there  was  much  of  interest- 
ing discussion,  and  some  work  prepared  for  the  next  annual 
meeting.    I  am  sorry  to  hear  that  yon  have  been  put  back  by 


176  LIFE  OF  HORACE   BUSHNELL. 

your  unfortunate  illness.  Hold  on  to  your  physician  like  a 
good  Christian,  and  try  him  out.  As  to  coming  home,  give 
yourself  no  uneasiness.  You  shall  hear  the  first  moment  you 
are  wanted.  And  to  show  how  frankly  I  will  deal  with  you, 
we  want  you  now, — only  we  want  you  to  stay  more  than  to 
return.  And  if  you  cannot  manage  to  gratify  us  in  both, 
gratify  us  in  the  want  that  is  strongest.  My  text  this  morn- 
ing was,  "A  man's  life  consisteth  not  in  the  abundance  of 
the  things  that  he  possesseth."  I  a  little  doubted  whether 
it  applied  to  husbands — certainly  not  w^hen  their  wives  are 
absent.  I  desire,  if  I  can,  to  produce  a  sermon  this  week  on 
the  very  interesting  subject  of  deformity,  or  the  uses  of  it. 
If  3'ou  have  anything  to  suggest  that  will  help  me,  let  me 
have  it  by  mail  or  telegraph.  Seriously,  I  do  feel  a  very 
great  and  peculiar  interest  in  this  subject.  I  wish  I  had 
you  here  to  talk  out  the  matter,  as  I  hope  to  have  you  soon, 
in  such  health  and  patience  that  you  can  hear. 

Hartford,  November  23, 1846. 
I  am  sorry  that  my  letters  are  so  reluctant  to  reach  you  in 
season,  and  still  more  that  they  are  so  worthless  when  you 
get  them,  I  do  not  write  in  the  latter  part  of  the  week,  be- 
cause I  have  so  much  to  do  beside ;  I  cannot  in  tlie  begin- 
ning, because  there  is  so  little  left  of  me.  This,  you  will  see, 
is  Monday ;  or  if  the  date  does  not  show  you,  the  substance 
will.  I  gave  yesterday  what  I  consider  the  best  sermon  I 
ever  produced,  on  the  moral  uses  of  danger.  To-day  I  think 
I  could  write  one  poor  enough  to  match  it.  But  to-morrow  I 
begin  again  for  Thursday,  Thanksgiving, — and  what  shall  it 
be  ?  I  think  I  am  gaining  in  health  and  strength  rather  than 
losing ;  suffering,  in  fact,  from  nothing — only  from  a  want  of 
power  to  realize  many  things  of  which  my  mind  is  full.  It 
really  seems  that  I  am  only  beghming  to  be,  and  yet  I  begin 
also  to  think  of  not  being,  at  least  not  here.  What  a  grand 
possession  had  those  antediluvians,  in  their  thousand  years  of 
breathing !  We  must  breathe  short  and  quick,  else  we  do  not 
get  time  to  breathe  at  all.  I  have  had  one  or  two  invitations 
to  dine  out  on  Thanksgiving-day,  but  I  have  declined  them. 


THANKSGIVING-DAY.  177 

I  prefer  to  be  at  lioine,  with  what  of  home  is  left  me,  and  I 
shall  try  to  make  it  a  good  day  out  of  what  material  I  have. 
I  suppose  you  will  wonder  at  my  determination.  But  it  is 
my  taste.  And  though  yon  are  absent,  wdiich  is  saying  much, 
still  I  am  moved  in  part  by  this  fact ;  for  if  I  go  out,  I  lose 
you  wholly ;  whereas,  if  I  stay  at  home,  I  can  manage  to  get 
a  little  of  you.  The  dear  children  will  represent  you,  and  a 
little  imagination  instigated  by  a  little  love  will  help.  Be- 
sides, I  was  absent  the  last  year,  and  have  got  hungry  for 
a  taste  of  this  domestic  day,  so  that  I  shall  be  able  to  make  a 

feast  on  a  half  table.  .  .  . 

Hartford,  Mouclay,  November  30, 1846. 

.  .  .  We  had,  on  the  whole,  a  very  good  Thanksgiving, — 
talked  of  home  and  God's  blessings  to  us,  adding  now  and 
then  a  sigh,  not  painful  enough  to  take  off  the  smile  from 
our  faces,  for  the  two  dear  ones  missing,  for  we  were  deter- 
mined to  be  happy  at  any  rate.  We  had,  also,  how  many 
causes  to  be  thankful  on  your  account.     Calling  on  Mrs. 

B the  next  day,  and  hearing  her  say  that  she  went  out 

to  dine  to  escape  home,  I  could  not  but  feel  how  different  a 
day  it  was  with  you  absent,  from  what  it  would  be  if  there 
were  no  hope  of  your  return.  I  preached  on  Koads, — make 
what  of  that  you  can.  I  am  getting  v^-eary  of  work,  and  w^ish 
I  could  go  clear  for  a  time.  I  have  an  article  on  my  hands 
for  the  New  Englander,  on  the  Alliance ;  wdien  I  get  that 
off,  I  will  swing  my  hat,  and  go — somewhere.  I  have  now  a 
meeting  of  the  Consociation  before  me  this  afternoon,  and  it 
will  probably  take  up  to-day  and  to-morrow.  I  am  stealing 
time  from  it  to  write  you  this,  as  I  shall  have  no  other  time. 
I  have  just  heard  of  the  terrible  wreck  of  the  Atlantic.  What 
a  scene !  It  casts  a  gloom  upon  one  sometimes  to  see  what 
a  wrathful  world  it  is  that  we  live  in.  Fierce,  unpitying,  re- 
morseless powers  are  everywhere  armed  against  us,  and  to 
live  is  to  run  a  kind  of  gauntlet.  Well,  God  knows  us  best ; 
and  it  is,  after  all,  a  grand  exercise  that  he  gives  us,  in  con- 
fronting his  terrors  and  strengthening  our  hearts  against  them. 
To  fall  at  last  heroically  is  about  honor  enough.  .  .  . 

Yours  ever,  Hoeace  Bushnell. 


178  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

The  important  work  of  this  year,  1846,  both  as  regards  its 
ultimate  usefulness,  and  with  respect  to  the  discussion  and 
controversy  which  followed  its  publication,  was  his  little 
book  on  "  Christian  Nurture."  Its  spirit  and  general  tenor 
are  so  well  known  that  it  is  unnecessary  liere  to  repeat  its  af- 
fectionate plea,  that  the  religious  life  of  childhood  should  be 
fostered  by  and  adopted  into  the  great  household  of  faith,  the 
organic  Christian  family  of  the  Church.  So  much  progress 
has  been  made  in  this  direction  that  it  is  difficult  for  us  now 
to  realize  the  prevalence  at  that  day  of  very  different  teach- 
ings. The  Church  of  New  England  recognized  no  gradual 
growth  into  Christianitv.  None  could  be  admitted  to  Chris- 
tian  fellowship  save  those  who  had  been  technically  convert- 
ed, passing  through  the  prescribed  stages  of  "conviction  of 
sin  and  acceptance  of  salvation."  Hence  children  had  no 
participation  in  the  religious  life  of  their  parents,  and  no 
rights  in  the  Church  as  a  home.  The  philosophy  which  un- 
derlies "Christian  Nurture"  is  likely  to  be  lost  sight  of  in 
the  greater  attraction  of  its  practical  lessons.  It  is  opj^osed 
to  the  indimdualism  of  the  then  prevalent  theology,  and  rec- 
ognizes and  emphasizes  the  organic  life  of  the  family,  the 
Church  and  society  at  large,  wherein  no  soul  lives  or  acts 
alone  as  a  unit,  but  all  as  parts  of  a  living  organism,  interde- 
pendent and  mutually  helpful. 

The  history  of  the  origin  and  publication  of  this  treatise  is 
briefly  this:  When  Dr.  Bushnell  returned  from  Europe,  he 
found  that  certain  paragraphs  of  an  article  which  he  had 
published  in  the  New  Englander  had  provoked  some  dissent 
in  the  ministerial  association  to  which  he  belonged,  and  he 
was  invited  by  its  members  to  discuss  before  them  the  subject 
of  Christian  training.  He  produced  two  discourses  on  the 
question  for  his  own  pulpit,  and  read  the  argument  before 
the  association.  The  discussion  which  followed  among  those 
present  revealed  no  objection  to  the  view  given,  and  he  was 
unanimously  requested  to  print  the  discourses.  They  were 
not  written  for  that  purpose,  but  his  conviction  that  the  sub- 
ject was  an  important  one  led  him  to  comply.  While  he  was 
engaged  in  preparing  them  for  the  press,  his  friend,  Mr.  Jo- 


DISCOURSES  ON  CHRISTIAN  NURTURE.  179 

sepli  II.  Towne,  who  was  a  member  of  the  committee  of 
the  Massachusetts  Sabbath-School  Society,  requested  that  he 
might  be  allowed  to  offer  them  to  that  society  for  publica- 
tion. This  was  done.  Mr.  Towne  described,  in  a  graphic 
letter  to  Dr.  Bushnell,  the  manner  in  which  the  committee 
received  and  discussed  the  anonymous  manuscript.  Each 
member  of  the  committee,  as  he  read  and  reported  upon  it, 
agreed  to  it  as  true,  and  praised  it  as  "  valuable,"  "  no  com- 
mon production,"  "  highly  suggestive."  "  But,"  the  qualifi- 
cation was,  "  it  is  new ;  it  will  make  a  stir ;  some  persons  w^ill 
be  startled  by  it,— such  is  the  novelty  of  the  thing  that  it 
will  inevitably  draw  attention  to  itself  whenever  it  appears 
in  print.  Would  it  be  prudent  to  publish  it?"  After  reserv- 
ing their  decision  for  several  months,  during  which  time  the 
propriety  of  publishing  it  was  thoroughly  considered,  and  af- 
ter sending  the  manuscript  back  twice  to  the  author  for  the 
modification  of  phrases,  in  which,  as  it  cost  him  no  change  of 
opinion,  he  was  willing  to  gratify  the  committee,  the  "  Dis- 
courses on  Christian  Nurture  "  were  finally  published. 
■  The  treatise  was  noticed  in  a  Calvinistic  and  an  Episcopal 
paper  with  favor,  and  seemed  likely  to  find  audience  before  a 
limited  public,  without  exciting  any  alarm  whatever.  But  a 
"Letter"  appeared,  having  the  sanction  of  the  North  Asso- 
ciation of  Hartford  County,  addressed  to  Dr.  Buslmell,  and 
charging  that  the  "Discourses"  were  full  of  "dangerous  ten- 
dencies." This  letter  was  industriously  circulated,  and  seems 
to  have  met  with  a  more  ready  hearing  in  Massachusetts  than 
in  Connecticut,  where  its  origin  was  better  understood. 
When,  shortly  after.  Dr.  Buslmell  attended  a  meeting  of  the 
General  Association  of  Massachusetts  at  Worcester,  he  w-as 
surprised  to  find  himself  enveloped  in  an  atmosphere  of  sen- 
sibility which  went  to  the  length  of  personal  and  public  dis- 
courtesy. Perceiving  from  such  indications  that  he  had 
"  touched  the  quick  of  theologic  odium,"  he  was  less  sur- 
prised at  the  announcement,  shortly  made,  that  the  Sabbath- 
School  Society  had  suppressed  the  book.  lie  saw  that  this 
would  but  give  him  an  opportunity  to  obtain  a  wider  hear- 
ing, and  at  once  decided  to  republish  it  himself.     Ilis  repub- 


180  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSIINELL. 

lication  was  accompanied  by  an  "Argument,"  addressed  to 
the  committee  of  the  Massachusetts  Sabbath-School  Society, 
in  which  he  rehearsed  the  history  of  the  case,  and  then  pro- 
ceeded to  fortify  his  former  statements  by  showing,  through 
various  quotations,  tliat  they  were  but  a  return  to  an  older 
and  more  genuine  form  of  orthodoxy. 

From  tliis  argument,  now  out  of  print,  we  select  the  fol- 
lowing extracts : — 

"  I  made  some  references  in  the  '  Discourses '  to  what  had  been  the 
views  of  Christian  teachers  in  past  ages.  If  I  erred  in  not  being  more 
full  on  that  subject,  I  will  now  supply  the  deficiency,  not  without  some 
confidence  that  this  panic,  before  which  you  have  yielded,  will  be  dis- 
covered, like  many  others  which  have  troubled  the  world,  to  have  liad 
its  birth  in  ignorance. 

"  If  I  give  you  reason  to  believe  tliat  the  same  doctrine  of  Christian 
nurture  was  held  by  the  church  of  the  apostolic  age,  in  connection  with 
infant  baptism,  after  which  the  rite  fell  into  long  ages  of  abuse,  where 
its  proper  meaning  was  lost  out  of  mind;  if  I  show  you,  moreover,  that 
the  very  type  of  religion  which  has  produced  this  extraordinary  sensi- 
tiveness to  my  book  is  in  fact  a  novelty,  itself  just  a  hundred  years  old, 
being  that  which  was  derisively  called  '  New  Light '  in  its  day,  and 
which  now  is  really  taken  to  be  synonymous  with  antiquity  and  all  or- 
thodoxy ;  a  type  of  religion  which  approaches  strict  individualism, 
which  practically  hangs  all  power  and  progress  on  adult  conversions, 
which  flowered  in  the  brilliant  era  of  Burchard  and  Knapp,  and  is  now 
dying  under  mildew  or  passing  into  seed ; — showing  you  this,  I  think 
your  committee  will  at  least  find  some  confirmation  of  their  judgment, 
and  the  subjects  of  this  panic,  some  solution  of  the  very  peculiar  courte- 
sy and  intellectual  dignity  that  has  attended  their  demonstrations.  .  .  . 

"I  observe  that  a  certain  school  at  least  of  Unitarians  have  somewhat 
warmly  espoused  my  little  book  since  its  publication  was  suspended; 
and  this,  I  perceive,  is  to  many  a  note  of  appalling  import  against  me ; 
for  nothing  surely  can  be  less  than  a  pestilent  error  which  any  Unitarian 
will  approve !  Meantime,  it  is  my  felicity  that,  while  your  committee  are 
deploring  probably  the  stigma  suffered  in  publishing  a  book  that  Unita- 
rians can  accept,  I  am  congratulating  myself  in  the  fact  that  I  liave  been 
able  to  present  a  great  practical  suljject,  involving  so  many  diliicult  and 
contested  points  in  theology,  in  a  manner  so  comprehensive  as  to  carry 
at  least  the  qualified  assent  of  many  Christian  denominations.  I  should 
even  be  false  to  my  own  aims  and  principles  not  to  hail  the  result  with 
unfeigned  joy.  Neither  let  the  public  be  too  easily  frightened  by  the 
success  of  a  catholic  efi"ort.  And  if  the  bats  and  beetles,  scared  by  so 
strange  a  sign,  begin  to  flutter  wildly,  as  if  the  elemental  darkness  they 


ARGUMENT  FOR  CHRISTIAN  NURTURE.  181 

inhabit  were  in  danger,  it  is  not  best  to  be  alarmed  on  that  account;  for  it 
is  not  they  who  rule  the  world,  any  more  than  they  who  understand  it.  .  ,  . 

"  You  have  a  religious  uewsi^aper  that  has  long  been  exerting  a  most 
baleful  effect  upon  your  churches,  restraining  the  breadth  of  Christian 
character  and  opinions,  undignifying  the  feelings  and  perverting  the 
Christian  manners  of  your  people.  To  say  that  this  paper  is  behind  the 
age  is  nothing, — it  is  behind  all  ages.  It  is  as  ignorant  of  tlie  past  as  it 
is  opposite  to  the  future.  It  exhibits  that  uncomfortable  spirit  which 
properly  belongs  to  a  brute  conservatism  held  by  the  will,  sei^arated 
from  all  intelligent  views  of  the  past,  and,  even  further  still,  from  the 
dignified  and  courtly  sentiments  that  arc  commonly  connected  with  a 
veneration  for  ancient  names  and  opinions.  The  one  virtue  for  which 
it  is  sometimes  praised,  viz.,  its  consistency,  is  but  another  name  for  the 
fact  that  its  opinions,  and  manners,  and  spirit  are  all  equally  bad,  and 
that  it  holds  to  them  all  with  equal  tenacity.  This  paper  aggravates 
every  mischief  you  suSier;  indeed,  I  sometimes  think  it  is  the  author  of 
whatever  is  undesirable  in  your  present  state.  For  it  is  not  the  guiding 
reins  of  wisdom  that  it  applies,  turning  your  chariot,  by  gentle  retrac- 
tions on  this  side  and  on  that,  into  the  path  of  safety  and  progress ;  but 
it  is  more  fitly  represented  by  that  thong  in  the  harness  which  falls 
across  the  haunches  of  the  animal,  and  upon  which,  throwing  back  his 
weight,  he  sometimes  stubbornly  refuses  to  move.  And  so  often  has  this 
unilluminated  conservatism  backed  its  bulk  upon  every  genial  and  hope- 
ful motion,  that  many  aj)pear  to  shrink  from  encountering  its  violence, 
preferring  to  save  their  quiet,  and  possibly  their  dignity,  from  the  ill 
manners  in  which  it  finds  impunity. 

"There  is  no  instrument  of  power  in  this  age,  as  we  are  just  beginning 
to  discover,  that  can  be  compared  with  a  newspaper.  What  now  we 
want  in  New  England,  above  everything  else,  is  a  great  religious  news- 
paper, edited  with  such  a  degree  of  ability,  such  firmness  and  breadth  of 
understanding,  as  shall  make  it  an  instrument  worthy  of  our  churches 
and  worthy  of  the  age. 

"Brethren,  whether  you  will  believe  it  or  not,  a  new  day  has  come. 
If  we  will,  we  can  make  it  a  better  day ;  but  it  demands  a  furniture  of 
thouglit  and  feeling  such  as  Ave  must  stretch  ourselves  in  a  degree  to 
realize.  We  must  be  firm  for  the  truth,  and,  for  that  very  reason,  ready 
to  detect  our  own  errors.  We  must  accept  the  legacy  left  us  by  our 
manly  fathers — a  legacy  of  labor,  and  duty,  and  progress ;  and  taking  our 
stand  for  sound  doctrine,  we  must  refuse  to  think  any  doctrine  sound 
which  does  not  help  us  to  grow,  or  any  growth  a  reality  which  does  not 
include  a  growth  in  wisdom,  and  breadth,  and  Christian  dignity." 

One  must  travel  back  thirty  years  to  realize  the  boldness 
and  force  of  these  words.     The  independent  position  thus 


182  LIFE   OF   HORACE   BUSHNELL. 

taken  was  a  solitary  one,  separate  from  and  in  advance  of  the 
body  to  M'hicli  Horace  Bushnell  belonged.  As  a  part  of  tlie 
history  of  his  case  they  are  reprinted  here,  and  not  from  a 
wish  to  revive  any  of  the  painful  feelings  associated  with 
them.  In  his  final  revised  and  complete  edition  of  Christian 
Nnrture,  withdrawing  from  none  of  his  positions,  he  omitted 
all  merely  controversial  matter,  and  supplied  its  place  with 
teachings  so  practical  and  so  tender  that  they  liave  found 
their  way  into  many  a  household  where  their  orthodoxy  has 
been  never  a  matter  of  question,  and  where,  indeed,  no  one 
cares  whether  they  are  orthodox,  every  one  feeling  them  to 
be  true.  Nevertheless,  the  early  pungent  edition  had  its  val- 
ue in  its  day,  and  was  at  least  vividly  characteristic  of  the 
writer  at  that  period. 

Dr.  Leonard  Bacon,  of  New  Haven,  in  a  valuable  review  of 
Dr.  BushnelFs  earlier  theological  work,  lately  published  in  the 
New  Eaglander^  says : — 

"Certain  metaphysico  -  theological  questions,  which  were  thought  to 
be  intelligible  and  important,  but  which  can  hardly  be  so  stated  as  to  be 
intelligible  now  to  anybody,  were  sharply  and  contentiously  debated  for- 
ty years  ago.  To  these  questions.  Dr.  Bushnell  seemed  comparatively  in- 
different. The  '  New  Haven  divines,'  Drs.  Taylor,  Fitch,  and  Goodrich, 
were  doing  what  I  regarded,  and  still  regard,  as  a  great  work  for  the 
liberation  of  New  England  Calvinism  from  certain  traditional  encum- 
brances. Earnestly,  and  in  the  face  of  obloquy,  they  Avere  working  to 
establish  definitions  and  discriminations,  by  which  the  Divine  call  to  re- 
pentance and  tlie  offer  of  reconciliation  to  God  might  be  more  effective- 
ly commended  to  every  man's  conscience.  We  all  felt  that  the  theology 
of  the  North  Cliurch  pulpit  in  Hartford  was  not  the  New  Haven  theolo- 
gy ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  everybody  knew  that  it  was  not  that  which 
called  itself  Old  Scliool.  There  was,  in  various  quarters,  a  measure  of 
anxiety  about  Dr.  Bushnell's  doctrinal  symi^athies  and  tendencies.  Let 
me  confess  that,  with  all  my  confidence  in  him  and  my  affectionate  ad- 
miration of  him,  I  had  some  share  in  the  anxiety. 

"  His  book  on  '  Christian  Nurture '  gave  occasion  for  an  outbreak  of 
the  anxiety  concerning  his  mysterious  idiosyncrasies.  I  refer  to  that 
controversy,  because  it  was  in  some  sort  introductory  to  the  later  and 
more  protracted  one.  The  main  doctrine  of  the  'Christian  Nurture'  was 
essentially  old-scliool ;  though  to  many  who  thought  themselves  ortho- 
dox it  was  a  startling  novelty.  It  agreed  with  the  theories  and  the 
practice  of  a  Calvinism  older  than  the  traditions  of  our  New  England 


PROSPERITY  OUR  DUTY.  183 

theology,  and  Avas  commended  accordingly  by  tlie  most  authentic  organ 
of  Presbyterian  orthodoxy ;  but  the  book  which  proclaimed  it  was  re- 
markably new-school  in  tone  and  spirit.  The  author  had  ventured  to 
discuss  the  relation  of  parental  influence  and  training  to  tlie  formation 
of  Christian  character  in  chiklreu,  without  taking  pains  to  expound 
those  formulas  of  doctrine  about  the  nature  and  method  of  regeneration, 
which  were  shaped  by  the  hammers  of  many  an  ancient  controversy. 
Of  the  controversy  which  ensued,  I  may  be  allowed  to  say  that,  while 
the  main  doctrine  of  the  '  Christian  Nurture '  made  its  way  against  all 
opposition,  the  reputation  of  its  author,  as  a  champion  of  acceptable  dog- 
mas against  all  new  views,  was  not  established.  Those  who  are  always 
looking  out  for  '  dangerous  tendencies  '  in  every  new  examination  of  the 
old  truth  were  eftectually  alarmed.  Nor  were  they  reassured  by  the  au- 
thor's vindication  of  himself,  wlien  he  undertook  to  show  them  that  their 
side  of  the  question  was  really  the  new-school  side,  as  compared  with  his." 

Absorbing  as  we  know  this  iirst  experience  of  controversy 
to  have  been,  we  do  not  find  Dr.  Buslinell  too  much  preoccu- 
pied for  thought  on,  and  attention  to,  public  affairs.  In  Jan- 
uary, 1847,  apropos  of  the  project  of  bringing  the  water-pow- 
er of  the  Connecticut  from  Windsor  to  Hartford,  he  preached 
a  sermon,  afterwards  printed  and  circulated  in  pamphlet  form, 
entitled  "  Prosperity  our  Duty."  Not  wishing  in  his  pulpit 
to  discuss  the  matter  in  question  on  its  own  merits,  and 
knowing  how  much  leverage  of  influence  on  the  public  mind 
may  be  obtained  by  an  indirect  prepossession  and  a  large 
rather  than  special  view  of  a  case,  he  chose  for  his  subject 
the  connection  between  a  growth  in  prosperity  and  a  growth 
in  virtue  in  large  communities,  and  urged  the  importance  to 
the  prosperous  growth  of  Hartford  of  a  public -spirited, 
prompt,  united  action  for  the  public  good.  He  was  a  little 
artful,  however,  in  selecting  for  his  text  this  verse  from  Sec- 
ond Chronicles, — "  This  same  Hezekiah  also  stopped  the  up- 
per water-course  of  Gihon,  and  brought  it  straight  down  to 
the  west  side  of  the  city  of  David."  When,  in  1853,  a  sup- 
ply of  city  w\ater,  but  without  power,  was  finally  obtained,  it 
was  commonly  spoken  of  in  Hartford  as  "  Gihon." 

Another  address  which  won  public  attention  was  that  on 
"Barbarism  the  First  Danger."  It  was  delivered  in  New 
York,  Boston,  and  other  places,  in  May  and  June,  in  behalf 
of  the  American  Home  Missionary  Society,  by  whom  it  was 

13 


184  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

afterwards  printed.  It  was  never  republished  by  the  author, 
although  one  of  the  best  known  and  most  striking  of  his  pub- 
lic addresses.  The  following  letter  to  the  Rev.  Dr.  C.  A. 
Bartol,  the  first  of  a  long  correspondence,  contains  an  allusion 
to  it.  From  this  time  w^e  are  to  date  the  progress,  by  quiet 
advances,  of  a  friendship  which  became  one  of  the  most 
valued  of  his  life,  and  a  source  of  untold  refreshment  in  the 
desert  of  controversy  through  which  he  was  about  to  pass. 
There  may  be  no  more  fitting  place  than  this  for  giving,  also, 
an  interesting  paper  of  recollections  from  Dr.  Bartol  himself, 
which  goes  back  to  the  same  time. 

Hartford,  July  19, 1847. 
Rev.  C.  a.  Baktol  : 

Deak  Sir, — I  ought  sooner  to  have  answered  your  kind 
letter,  but  I  am  just  now  so  deep  in  heresy,  or  the  repute  of 
it  thrown  upon  me  from  Massachusetts,  that  I  can  hardly  get 
time  for  the  reciprocation  of  decencies.  It  gives  me  the 
sincerest  pleasure  to  know  that  you  have  been  interested  in 
anything  which  I  have  written,  and  I  shall  be  most  happy  if 
I  am  permitted  to  have  your  personal  acquaintance.  I  think 
you  will  find  that  I  am  able  to  appreciate  some  of  the  feel- 
ings and  intellectual  struggles  of  Unitarianism,  and  to  look 
upon  them  with  such  a  degree  of  sympathy  as  one  w^ho  has 
suffered  the  like  may  be  expected  to  feel.  I  consider  myseK 
to  be  an  orthodox  man,  and  yet  I  think  I  can  state  my  ortho- 
dox faith  in  such  a  way  that  no  serious  Unitarian  will  con- 
flict with  me,  or  feel  that  I  am  beyond  the  terms  of  reason. 
Is  there  not  coming  a  day,  my  dear  sir,  when  the  life  will 
mean  as  much  as  the  opinion, — important  as  opinions  certain- 
ly are  ?    AVith  great  respect,  I  am  yours, 

Horace  Bushnell. 

Dear  Mrs.  Bushnell,  —  I^o  images  and  recollections  of 
more  delight  could  return  to  me  than  are  suggested  by  your 
note.  The  first  I  saw  of  Dr.  Bushnell  was  in  the  pulpit  of 
Park  Street  Church,  as  he  delivered  his  sermon  on  "  Barbar- 
ism the  First  Danger ;"  and  I  think  he  was  the  earliest  to 
make  a  picture  of  what  America  showed  of  Mrbarity,  al- 


REMINISCENCES  FROM  DR.  BARTOL.  185 

though  his  canvas  was  copied,  and  this  feature  of  our  society 
and  institutions  became  a  brand  more  conspicuous,  especially 
in  the  matter  of  slavery,  as  Sumner  described  it  in  after-time. 
The  preacher  seemed  a  real  divine  and  diviner,  applying 
great  principles  to  actual  things  with  matchless  sagacity,  and 
a  force  too  great  for  Satan  himself  to  ward.  Such  was  the 
revelation  in  him  of  power,  both  to  see  and  to  say,  that  this 
Boston  community,  wliich  then  so  moved  all  together  it  could 
carry  but  one  rider  at  a  time,  was  eager  as  one  man  for  his 
voice,  and  willing  to  travel  at  his  touch.  Accordingly,  he 
was  sought  with  repeated  invitations  from  Liberal  quarters 
to  expound  Orthodox  views.  The  Divinity  School  in  Har- 
vard University,  and  the  college  proper,  begged  him  to  fill 
special  anniversary  occasions  in  their  service ;  and  certainly 
his  Phi  Beta  Kappa  oration  in  Cambridge,  for  originality, 
simplicity  and  splendor,  either  as  spoken  or  on  the  printed 
page,  lias  scarce,  if  ever,  been  surpassed  in  the  land.  I  soon 
found,  in  the  close  personal  acquaintance  which  grew  between 
us,  that  all  his  public  ability  had  its  roots  in  as  rare  a  private 
worth.  Never  were  honesty  and  ingenuity  in  any  intellect 
more  singularly  blended,  and,  as  it  were,  chemically  combined. 
Born  as  he  was  to  a  creed,  he  could  take  nothing  on  trust. 
Outward  authority,  for  a  mind  so  active  and  penetrating, 
could  never  suffice.  Necessity  was  laid  on  his  nature  to  ra- 
tionalize every  doctrine  or  form.  What  he  could  not  make 
acceptable  to  sound  judgment  and  conscience  he  would  either 
waive  or  drop.  He  told  me  he  had  many  questions  hanging 
on  pegs,  to  take  down  in  turn  as  their  time  should  come. 
He  laid  out  his  best  theological  strength  to  prove  that  no  fit 
objection  could  arise  to  the  old  articles  of  Trinity  and  Atone- 
ment, rightly  understood.  I  found  him  never  a  Calvinist. 
He  revolted  from  the  notion,  now  so  much  discussed,  of  ever- 
lasting punishment.  The  great  humanity  of  his  heart  could 
in  no  sectarian  stress  be  made  a  sacrifice  on  the  altar  of  a 
cruel  God,  which  was  no  God  to  him.  His  various  essays  on 
"  Christian  Nurture,"  perhaps  his  most  important  contribu- 
tion to  the  Church,  have  the  true  relish  of  that  paternal  good- 
ness which  is  the  richest  common  property  of  God  and  man. 


1S6  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSIINELL. 

But  his  keen  discrimiiication  iu  defence  of  opinions  he  would 
retcain  as  essential  to  Christian  faith,  is,  since  tlie  days  of  Jon- 
athan Edwards,  without  a  parallel.  Possibly  his  explanations 
sometimes,  like  the  subtilties  of  German  metaphysics,  escape 
the  perception  of  the  general  reader,  diverge  from  the  track 
of  the  common  sense,  and  are  acute  to  excess.  As  we  differ- 
ed on  points  of  dogma,  it  is  natural  for  me  to  suppose  that 
where  I  could  not  be  persuaded,  he  failed.  But  his  piety 
was  profounder  than  even  his  dialectic  skill.  When  he  was 
my  guest,  it  was  some  book  of  mystic  devotion  he  chose,  for 
recreation,  to  take  np.  It  was  no  weak  votary  that  religion 
had  in  this  man.  He  had  it  iu  him  to  be  an  artist,  architect, 
road -builder,  and  city -builder,  as  well  as  scholar;  and  well 
is  your  Hartford  park  called  by  his  name.  I  have  never 
known  faculties  so  manifold  in  better  order  and  under  disci- 
pline more  strict,  or  in  evolution  more  effective  and  exact. 
They  were  the  Lord's  armory,  in  mighty  and  unwearied  use 
for  his  cause.  In  our  many  walks,  nothing,  in  streets  or 
buildings.  Common  or  Public  Garden,  but  was  caught  by  his 
eye  and  had  improvements  suggested  from  his  thought.  In 
conversation,  never  was  wit  so  sharp  and  more  kind.  In 
hours  of  weakness  and  ill-health,  with  his  chronic  cough,  there 
was  wondrous  content,  always  good  cheer  and  to  spare.  An 
ill-tempered  or  envious  word  never  fell  from  his  lips  on  my 
ear ;  and  that  eye  was  so  piercing  and  benign,  I  feel  its  ad- 
monition and  blessing  on  me  still !  The  countenance,  in  its 
inward  expressiveness,  strongly  resembled  that  of  Channing. 
It  had  a  play  and  vivacity  all  its  own. 

Playfulness  I  should  call  one  of  Dr.  Bushnell's  marked 
traits,  seldom,  if  ever,  exploding  aloud.  A  native  refinement 
kept  him  from  public  shouting  or  private  noise.  But  some 
ghost  of  a  smile  seemed  ever  to  haunt  his  face, — never  hard 
or  biting,  but  like  the  gracious  beginning  of  a  kiss.  If  the 
remark  was  incisive  which  he  was  about  to  make,  the  M'reath 
of  good-humor  was  always  the  more  protective  and  soft.  The 
geniality  began  in  his  mind,  and  went  through  the  expression 
of  his  features  into  his  unconscious  manner  and  slightest  gest- 
ure.    Indeed,  it  was  his  very  atmosphere.     The  boy  never 


HIS  PLAYFULNESS.  187 

quite  left  the  man.  Something  even  of  tlie  look  of  the  babe 
was  in  the  virile  glance  and  tone.  We  threw  stones  off  the 
shore,  to  see  which  of  ns  could  send  them  farthest  or  skip 
them  best.  He  took  me,  one  day,  from  his  own  house  to 
Talcott  mountain ;  and  no  lad  of  fifteen  was  ever  more  de- 
cidedly out  on  an  excursion,  and  to  have,  innocently,  a  good 
time.  A  wild  nature  in  him,  so  sweet  and  good  it  would 
liave  been  a  loss  wholly  to  overcome  it  with  any  grace,  leap- 
ed like  a  fountain  and  ran  like  a  roe.  On  our  return  he 
pleased  himself  to  drive  part  of  the  way  with  one  chaise- 
wheel  in  the  gutter,  over  the  slope  of  the  road,  as  he  held  the 
reins  with  firm  hand,  archly  looking  round  to  see  if  I  started 
or  shrank.  But  no  engineer  was  surer  of  his  track,  or,  in  the 
swift  traject,  more  safe.  What  a  worker  he  was,  yet  how 
persuaded  that  w^ork  was  but  a  means  on  the  w\ay,  and  play 
the  end ! 

Riding  with  him  one  day  in  the  cars  on  the  way  to  l^a- 
hant,  he  left  me  awhile  with  a  clergyman,  rather  of  his  own 
way  of  thinking,  who  very  pleasantly  tried  to  convert  me. 
When  Bushnell  came  back  he  inquired  of  the  reverend  min- 
ister, "  What  have  you  been  doing  with  my  friend  Bartol?" 
"I  have  not  been  doing  anything  but  laying  out  the  Presby- 
terian creed  to  him,"  was  the  reply.  "You  mean  that  you 
have  been  putting  a  shroud  on  it,  I  suppose ;  for  that's  what 
they  do  when  they  lay  things  out,"  rejoined  Bushnell,  with 
that  laugh  which  always  began  in  the  gray  eyes,  and  only  left 
its  last  audible  ripple,  like  a  wave  striking  the  shore,  in  his 
mouth.  "  Can  a  Calvinist  be  a  Christian  ?"  one  evening  in 
company  in  ray  parlor.  Father  Taylor,  the  Bethel  pastor,  asked 
him.  "  Of  course  he  can,  and  is,"  very  soberly  he  answer- 
ed. "  But,"  said  Taylor,  "  what  if  the  Lord  some  day  should 
come  round  to  these  saints  in  heaven,  put  there  by  arbitrary 
election  and  no  merit  of  their  own,  and  propose  to  turn  that 
end  of  the  stick  Toxuid,  by  his  own  equally  pure  will,  into 
the  other 2)lace^  would  they  be  just  as  good  Christians  then?" 
Bushnell  responded,  with  that  flash  of  sympathy  and  twin- 
kling glance,  which  showed  that  no  denominational  consider- 
ations hindered  his  appreciation  of  a  fair  hit,  at  whomsoever's 


188  LIFE   OF   HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

cost  the  jest  raiglit  be.  His  tenderness  of  heart  blended  and 
■«-as  wrought  into  his  strong  sense,  for  a  lightning-rod  to  ear-  • 
ry  harmless  to  the  ground  what  might  else  become  a  crashing 
and  destructive  bolt  of  wrath.  During  the  controversy,  start- 
ing at  Hartford  because  he  had  brought  the  ordinary  con- 
struction of  Total  Depravity,  Election,  and  Regeneration  intc> 
doubt,  which  dates  the  truly  7'omantic  period  of  his  history,  I 
admired  the  pungency,  turned  by  love  into  utter  gentleness, — 
as  of  soft  steel  by  rapid  whirlings  a  cutting-tool  is  sometimes 
made, — with  which  he  said  he  desired  to  put  his  opponent 
into  "  an  attitude  of  comprehensive  repugnance,"  meaning 
that  in  the  strife  was  no  personal  hate.  I  think  he  had  no 
capacity,  with  all  his  eminent  powers,  for  enmity.  Goodness 
and  wisdom  were  the  elements  that  amounted  to  genius  in 
him,  by  both  being  so  great.  He  preached  in  my  pulpit  on 
"  Unconscious  Influence."  He  exemplifies  his  own  doctrine, 
at  least  for  his  and  your  friend,  C.  A.  Baktol. 

To  his  Daughter. 

Hartford,  January  17, 1848. 

My  deak  Child, — You  can  hardly  guess  how  much  we 
miss  you.  When  our  little  circle  is  gathered  round  the  par- 
lor fire  at  evening,  we  all  take  turns  in  saying,  —  perhaps 

breaking  silence  to  say, — I  wish  now  dear  L w^as  here. 

And  the  children  ask,  moreover,  how  long,  how  many  months, 
will  it  be  before  she  comes  home  ?  And  then  I  see  how  their 
souls  are  stretching  and  working  after  the  measures  of  time, 
contriving  in  themselves  how  long  a  month  is,  and  how  long 
these  months  will  be.  Well,  it  is  a  blessed  thing  for  them  to 
know  the  measures  of  time  through  their  affections, — how 
much  better  than  to  learn  its  measures  through  expectations 
of  pleasure,  appetite,  or  any  selfish  good.  If  we  all  had  our 
clock  in  our  hearts,  measuring  off  our  days  by  the  love  we 
exercise  to  friends,  to  mankind,  and  to  God,  we  should  make 
a  friend  of  time  also.  We  should  live,  in  fact,  a  great  while 
longer  in  a  much  shorter  time. 

I  have  been  greatly  pleased,  my  dear  daughter,  by  the  spir- 
it of  your  letters,  because  I  tliink  I  see  that  you  are  earnestly 


FATHERLY  COUNSEL.  189 

desirous  of  improvement.  I  hope,  meantime,  that  you  will 
be  turning  your  thoughts  to  religion  and  to  God,  as  well  as 
to  your  studies.  You  have  been  religiously  educated,  and 
you  are  come  now  to  an  age  when  you  must  begin  to  be  more 
responsible  to  yourself.  Our  prayer  for  you  is,  every  day, 
that  God  would  impart  his  grace  to  you  and  draw  you  on  to 
a  full  choice  of  himself,  and  perform  the  good  work  which 
we  trust  he  has  begun  in  you.  This  would  complete  our 
happiness  in  you.  I  would  recommend  to  you  now  that  you 
set  before  you,  as  a  distinct  object,  the  preparing  yourself  to 
make  a  profession  of  the  Saviour.  Make  this  a  distinct  object 
of  thought  and  of  prayer  every  day.  And  do  not  inquire  so 
much  what  you  are,  whether  truly  a  Christian  in  heart  or  not, 
as  how  you  may  come  into  the  full  Christian  spirit,  to  become 
unselfish,  to  have  a  distinct  and  abiding  love  to  Christ.  Unite 
yourself  to  Christ  for  life,  and  try  to  receive  his  beautiful 
and  loving  spirit.  You  will  find  much  darkness  in  you,  but 
Christ  will  give  you  light.  Your  sins  will  trouble  you,  but 
Christ  will  take  away  your  sins  and  give  you  peace.  Pray 
God,  also,  to  give  you  his  spirit,  and  do  not  doubt  that  his 
spirit  will  help  you  through  all  difllculties.  In  all  your  duties 
and  studies,  endeavor  to  do  them  for  God  and  so  as  to  please 
him.  Make  this,  too,  your  pleasure,  for  assuredly  it  will  be  the 
highest  pleasure.  It  may  not  so  appear  at  first,  but  it  will  be 
so  very  soon.  Nothing,  you  will  see  in  a  moment,  can  yield 
so  sweet  a  pleasure  as  the  love  and  pursuit  of  excellence,  es- 
pecially that  excellence  which  consists  in  a  good  and  right 
heart  before  God.  And  you  will  be  more  likely  to  love  this 
work  and  have  success  in  it,  if  you  set  before  you  some  fixed 
object,  such  as  I  have  proposed. 

"We  gave  you  to  God  in  your  childhood,  and  now  it  be- 
longs to  you  to  thank  God  for  the  good  we  have  sought  to 
do  for  you,  and  try  to  fulfil  our  kindness  by  assuming  for 
yourself  what  we  promised  for  you.  We  feel  very  tenderly 
towards  you,  and  we  know  that  you  love  us ;  and  Christ 
loves  us  all  more  than  we  can  love  each  other.  We  are  a  very 
happy  family,  and  if  we  are  all  one  together  in  Christ,  it  will 
secure  our  happiness  in  all  future  time.     'No  pleasure  will  be 


190  LIFE   OF   HORACE   BUSHNELL. 

marred,  and  no  blight  will  ever  come  upon  the  satisfaction 
we  have  in  each  other.  May  the  good  spirit  of  God,  my  dear 
child,  guide  you  in  your  absence  from  us,  be  with  you  daily, 
and  assist  you  to  be  wise.  May  every  day  be  a  happy  day, 
because  it  is  passed  under  the  smile  of  your  heavenly  Father. 
Your  loving  father,  Horace  Bushnell. 


RELIGIOUS  EXPERIENCE.  191 


CHAPTER  X. 

18^8-1849. 

RELIGIOUS  EXPERIENCE.— ADDRESS  AT  CAMBRIDGE  DIVINITY 
SCHOOL.— ADDRESS  AT  HARVARD.- ADDRESS  AT  YALE.- AD- 
DRESS AT  ANDOVER.— THE  BOOK,  "GOD  IN  CHRIST."  — DIS- 
SERTATION ON  LANGUAGE.— EFFECTS  OF  HIS  VIEWS  OF  LAN- 
GUAGE UPON  HIS  WRITTEN  STYLE. 

The  private  experience  which  opened  the  followhig  year 
in  Dr.  Bushnell's  life  was,  at  the  time,  linown  and  understood 
only  by  his  wife.     She  supplies  this  account  of  it : — 

"  The  year  1848  was  the  central  point  in  the  life  of  Horace 
Bushnell.  It  was  a  year  of  great  experiences,  great  thoughts, 
great  labors.  At  its  beginning  he  had  reached  one  of  those 
headlands  where  new  discoveries  open  to  the  sight.  He  had 
approached  it  through  mental  struggles,  trials,  and  practical 
endeavor,  keeping  his  steadfast  way  amid  all  the  side-attrac- 
tions of  his  ceaseless  mental  activity.  Five  years  before,  God 
had  spoken  personally  to  him  in  the  death  of  his  beloved  lit- 
tle boy,  drawing  his  thonghts  and  affections  to  the  spiritual 
and  unseen,  until,  by  slow  advances,  the  heavenly  vision  burst 
upon  him.  He  might  well  have  said,  what  Edward  Irving 
said  of  a  like  sorrow : — '  Glorious  exchange !  He  took  my 
son  to  his  own  more  fatherly  bosom,  and  revealed  in  my 
bosom  the  sure  expectation  and  faith  of  his  own  eternal  Son.' 

"  This  more  personal  direction  of  his  thoughts  had  interest- 
ed him  in  a  new  kind  of  reading,  especially  in  Upham's  '  Life 
of  Madame  Guyon,'  and  the  '  Interior  Life,'  and  tlie  writings 
of  Fenelon,  which  attracted  his  feeling  by  their  devout  fervor 
and  unworldly  standards. 

"  '  I  believed,'  he  afterwards  said, '  from  reading,  especially 
the  New  Testament,  and  from  other  testimony,  that  there  is 


192  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

a  higher,  fuller  life  that  can  be  lived,  and  set  myself  to  attain 
it.  I  swung,  for  a  time,  towards  quietism,  but  soon  passed 
out  into  a  broader,  more  positive  state.'  This  phase  of  feel- 
ing, so  foreign  to  his  self-reliant,  positive  nature,  served  its 
uses  on  that  very  account ;  but  it  could  not  long  detain  him 
from  the  more  vigorous  faith  by  which  he  apprehended 
Christ  as  the  '  power  of  an  endless  life.' 

"  In  these  studies,  and  in  the  devout  application  by  which 
he  sought  to  realize,  in  his  own  experience,  the  great  possi- 
bilities unfolding  to  his  conception,  the  New  Year  came  in. 
On  an  early  morning  of  February,  his  wife  awoke,  to  hear 
that  the  light  they  had  waited  for,  more  than  they  that  watch 
for  the  morning,  had  risen  indeed.  She  asked, '  What  have 
you  seen  V  He  replied,  '  The  gospel.'  It  came  to  him  at 
last,  after  all  his  thought  and  study,  not  as  something  rea- 
soned out,  but  as  an  inspiration, — a  revelation  from  the  mind 
of  God  himself. 

"  The  full  meaning  of  his  answer  he  embodied  at  once  in 
a  sermon  on  '  Christ  the  Form  of  the  Soul,'  from  the  text, 
'  Until  Christ  be  formed  in  you.'  The  very  title  of  this  ser- 
mon expresses  his  spiritually  illuminated  conception  of  Christ, 
as  the  indwelling,  formative  life  of  the  soul, — the  new-creat- 
ino-  power  of  righteousness  for  humanity.  And  this  con- 
ception was,  soon  after,  more  adequately  set  fortli  in  his  book, 
'  God  in  Christ.' 

"That  he  regarded  this  as  a  crisis  in  his  spiritual  life  is 
evident  from  his  not  infrequent  reference  to  it  among  his 
Christian  friends.  Even  as  late  as  18 71,  when  w^e  were  alone 
one  evening,  the  conversation  led  back  to  this  familiar  sub- 
ject. In  answer  to  a  question,  lie  said, — '  I  seemed  to  pass 
a  boundary.  I  had  never  been  very  legal  in  my  Christian 
life,  but  now  I  passed  from  those  partial  seeings,  glimpses 
and  doubts,  into  a  clearer  knowledge  of  God  and  into  his 
inspirations,  which  I  have  never  wholly  lost.  The  change 
was  into  faith, — a  sense  of  the  freeness  of  God  and  the  ease 
of  approach  to  him.' 

"  His  own  statement,  made  elsewhere,  of  the  nature  of  faith, 
gives  a  deeper  insight  into  his  meaning.     '  Christian  faith,' 


INTELLECTUAL   QUICKENING.  103 

as  he  says,  'is  the  faith  of  a  transaction.  It  is  not  the  com- 
mitting of  one's  thought  in  assent  to  any  proposition,  but 
tlie  trusting  of  one's  being  to  a  heing,  there  to  be  rested, 
kept,  guided,  moulded,  governed,  and.  possessed  forever.'  .  .  . 
'  It  gives  you  God,  fills  you  with  God  in  immediate,  experi- 
mental knowledge,  puts  you  in  possession  of  all  there  is  in 
him,  and  allows  you  to  be  invested  with  his  character  itself.' 

"  This,  then,  was  what  faith  brought  to  him.  Referring,  in 
a  letter,  to  the  nature  of  this  divine  experience,  he  wrote, '  I 
was  set  on  by  the  personal  discovery  of  Christ,  and  of  God 
as  represented  in  him.'  This  discovery  brought  him  into 
closer  relations  to  God  as  his  personal  friend, — the  relations 
of  confidence  and  reciprocity,  with  the  warmth  and  glow  of 
personal  friendship.  Such  an  opening  of  his  whole  being  to 
the  light  had,  of  course,  a  marked  effect  upon  his  preaching. 
Speaking  now  from  experimental  knowledge  and  perception, 
it  was  the  special  work  of  his  philosophic  mind  to  set  the 
inner  experiences  of  the  Christian  life  in  rational  forms,  to 
show  '  the  reason  of  faith,'  and  the  orderly  and  '  fixed  laws 
by  which  God's  most  distinctly  supernatural  w^orks  are  deter- 
mined.' 

"The  greatness  of  this  change  and  its  profound  reality 
made  him  a  new  man,  or  rather  the  same  man  with  a  heaven- 
ly investiture.  In  this  divine  panoply,  he  was  sent  into  the 
conflict  which  immediately  followed  the  publication  of  '  God 
in  Christ,'  written  the  same  year ;  and  he  was  able  to  meet 
it  with  the  courage,  the  poise,  and  the  consciousness  of  divine 
support  and  guidance  that  at  length  gave  him  his  victory." 

Prepared  by  this  private  experience,  which,  as  regards  his 
thought,  was  not  less  than  an  inspiration  and  revelation;  en- 
abling him  to  "  spiritually  discern  spiritual  things,"  he  was 
about  to  make  ready  for  an  expression  of  his  vision  to  the 
world,  when  unusual  opportunities  for  such  expression  pre- 
sented themselves.  The  subjects  on  which  he  had  obtained 
fresh  light  were  largely  matters  in  dispute  between  the  Or- 
thodox and  Unitarian  bodies,  then  drawn  up  in  battle  array 
ao-ainst  each  other.     The  ground  on  which  he  stood  was  sin- 


194  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

gularly  separated  from  the  positions  of  the  two  hostile  camps. 
He  stood  alone,  not  more  alone  in  Connecticut  than  he  would 
have  done  in  Massachusetts ;  no  indifferent  spectator,  and  yet 
no  sharer  with  either  party  in  the  strife.  He  saw  through 
the  smoke  a  vision,  and  heard  in  the  din  a  music,  to  his 
thought  far  transcending  in  import  all  for  which  his  brethren 
on  either  side  were  contending,  and  waited  only  for  the  mo- 
ment when  he  might  hope  to  obtain  a  hearing,  and  speak 
in  calmness  his  interpretation  of  what  had  been  revealed. 
Strangely  enough,  the  opportunity  came  at  once  on  both 
sides,  and  he  received  invitations  from  Harvard,  and  Yale, 
and  Andover  to  make  addresses  on  important  public  occa- 
sions. The  invitation  from  Harvard,  to  address  their  Divini- 
ty School  in  July,  was  received  in  March,  and  was  accepted 
without  hesitation,  or  that  fear  of  misconstruction  which 
would  have  restrained  most  men  then  in  the  orthodox  ranks. 
He  felt  the  occasion  to  be  a  very  important  one,  not  so  much 
for  its  influence  upon  his  own  position  as  for  the  opportunity 
which  it  gave  him  to  become  a  mediator  between  thinkers 
then  so  widely  separated.  That  others  shared  this  feeling, 
rating  his  power  of  influence  higher  far  than  he  Avould  have 
done,  and,  at  the  same  time,  fearing  many  things  which  he 
did  not  fear,  is  well  illustrated  by  the  following  letter  from 
his  old  friend.  Bishop  Burgess : — 

Gardiner,  Maine,  Marcli  20, 1848. 

Eeverend  and  dear  Sik, — You  may  be  surprised  to  see  a 
letter  from  me,  and  still  more  surprised  to  discover  its  con- 
tents. I  should  not  venture  it,  indeed,  were  I  not  fully  as- 
sured that,  after  so  long  an  association  on  the  same  spot,  you 
will  do  justice  to  my  intentions,  and  regard  the  words  of  an 
old  friend  with  some  indulgence. 

I  look  with  deep  interest  and  sympathy  on  all  which  con- 
cerns the  state  of  religion  among  the  strongest  body  of  Chris- 
tians in  New  England ;  and  in  common  w^ith  many  others,  I 
view  the  position  which  you  occupy  as  one  of  immense  mo- 
ment. It  is  having  its  effect  on  the  religion  of  a  generation, 
and,  through  that  generation,  on  the  future  progress  of  the 


LETTER  FROM   BISHOP  BURGESS.  195 

kingdom  of  God  in  our  country.  Without  meaning  to  push 
tlie  comparison  very  far,  I  may  say  that  no  man,  since  the 
first  appearance  of  Dr.  Ciianning,  appears  to  me  to  have  had 
so  much  the  power  of  becoming  a  kind  of  mediating  agent 
between  different  tendencies  in  religion.  But  oh,  what  a  task 
is  this  for  the  conscience !  What  a  responsibility  before  God  ! 
How  appalling  the  results  of  mistake  in  the  performance ! 
How  glorious  the  fruits  of  true  success ! 

The  report  that  you  have  been  invited  to  address  the  grad- 
uating class  at  the  Cambridge  Divinity  School  comes  from 
a  source  to  which,  in  such  matters,  we  are  accustomed  to  at- 
tach credit.  Whether  you  will  accept  the  appointment  is,  of 
course,  a  question  too  weighty  to  be  decided  anywhere  except 
where  it  has  been  submitted  to  all  the  lights  of  your  own 
most  conscientious  judgment.  But  let  me  say  that,  whether 
you  accept  or  reject  it,  the  attitude  in  which  you  are  placed 
by  the  very  offer  is  one,  as  it  strikes  me,  so  commanding  in 
its  influence  as  to  create  the  most  intense  solicitude  for  the 
issue.  To  maintain  the  theological  character  which  you  have 
held ;  to  speak  the  truth  as  it  is  written,  and  in  the  spirit  of 
all  the  true,  earnest  faith  of  all  ages ;  and  yet  to  satisfy,  or 
gratify,  or  guide,  or  not  offend  and  repel  those  with  whom 
no  doctrine,  no  authority,  no  revelation  has  been  held  sacred ; 
to  associate  with  them  without  sanctioning  their  errors ;  to 
commune  with  them  by  teaching  them  without  communing 
with  them  in  every  way,  to  attempt  to  reconcile  them  to  the 
truth  without  sacrificing  tlie  truth  to  them ; — this  is  a  work 
from  which,  I  am  sure,  many  of  the  wisest  and  holiest  of  men 
would  have  recoiled,  and  in  which  no  one  could  rightly  en- 
gage, without  the  pnrest  and  highest  motives,  the  coolest  and 
yet  most  anxious  deliberation,  and  an  incessant  watchfulness 
of  prayer. 

Whatever  3'ou  do,  my  dear  sir,  at  this  time  or  at  any  other, 
Avith  your  pen  or  otherwise,  it  is  my  hearty  prayer  that  you 
may  disappoint  every  unkind  prediction,  alike  of  the  bigoted 
and  tlie  unbelieving,  and  ever  continue  to  fulfil  the  good 
work  of  drawing  together  those  whose  hearts  are  really  one 
in  Christ,  and  of  distinguishing  between  essential  truth  and 


196  LIFE   OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

all  corruptions  and  perversions ;  so  that,  by  your  means,  the 
Father,  the  Son,  and  the  Holy  Spirit  may  ever  be  acknowl- 
edged and  glorified.  With  constant  respect,  yours  very 
faithfully,  Geoege  Buegess. 

On  the  9th  of  July,  he  delivered,  in  Cambridge,  his  "  Dis- 
course on  the  Atonement,"  the  first  of  the  series  afterwards 
incorporated  in  a  different  order  in  "God  in  Christ."  In 
the  opening  of  the  address,  he  speaks  as  follows  of  the  cir- 
cumstances under  which  he  came  to  them : — 

"  You  have  called  me  to  occupy,  this  evening,  a  singular, 
and,  in  the  same  view,  difficult  and  responsible  office ;  which 
office,  however,  I  most  readily  undertake,  because  I  seem  to 
have  a  subject  and  a  duty  appointed  me  also.  It  cannot  be 
improper,  in  the  circumstances,  to  say  that  when  your  letter 
came  inviting  me  to  perform  this  exercise,  I  had  just  emerged 
from  a  state  of  protracted  suspense,  or  mental  conflict,  in  ref- 
erence to  what  is  called,  theologically,  the  doctrine  of  Atone- 
ment ;  that  is,  of  the  life  and  death  of  Jesus  Christ  as  the  Sav- 
iour of  the  world.  The  practical  moment  of  Christ's  work  had 
been  sufficiently  plain,  but  the  difficulty  had  been  to  bring  its 
elements  into  one  theologic  view.  The  subject  had  for  many 
years  been  hung  up  before  me,  and  I  had  been  perusing  it  on 
all  sides,  trying  it  by  manifold  experiments,  and  refusing  to 
decide  by  the  will  what  could  only  be  cleared  by  light,  till 
now,  at  last,  the  question  had  seemed  to  open  itself  and  dis- 
play its  reasons.  And  when  your  letter  was  laid  upon  my 
table,  I  was  at  that  moment  projecting  a  discourse  that  should 
embody  what  I  dared,  somewhat  enthusiastically,  to  hope 
might  prove  a  true  solution  of  this  momentous  but  very  dif- 
ficult subject.  Instigated  by  the  same  incautious  warmth,  I 
accepted  the  occasion  offered,  as  offered  not  to  me,  but  to 
my  subject,  and  forthwith  set  apart  one  to  the  uses  of  the 
other. 

"  If,  now,  a  sliort  interval  of  time  and  a  formal  preparation 
of  the  subject  have  somewhat  sobered  my  confidence,  if  I  no 
longer  dream  of  the  possibility  that  I  may  solve  so  great  a 
question  to  the  satisfaction  of  any  one,  I  do  yet  cherish  a 


TWOFOLD   VIEW   OF   THE  ATONEMENT.  197 

hope  that  the  view  I  may  offer  will  lead  to  a  reinvestigation 
of  the  whole  question,  and  thus,  at  length,  towards  a  recon- 
struction of  our  present  theological  affinities ;  or,  if  this  be 
too  much,  towards  a  reduction  of  our  present  theological  an- 
tipathies. Or,  again,  if  this  be  too  much,  it  will  at  least  be 
something  if  I  am  able  to  go  directly  down  into  the  arena 
and  take  up,  in  manful  earnest,  the  old  first  question  over 
which  our  fathers  panted  in  the  dust  of  controversy,  discuss- 
ing it  anew  by  your  permission,  and  without  offence  to  your 
Christian  hospitalities ;  for  it  would  be  a  public  shame,  even 
to  Christianity  itself,  if  I  were  to  come  before  you  on  such  an 
occasion  as  this,  and  in  such  a  theologic  relation,  here  to  speak 
as  one  that  is  cautiously  imprisoned  within  the  limits  of  some 
neutral  subject,  neither  trusting  you,  nor  daring  for  myself,  to 
hazard  the  mention  of  any  point  in  litigation  between  us.  I 
consider  it,  also,  to  be  only  a  just  compliment,  in  return  for 
the  ver}'^  unexampled  courtesy  I  am  accepting,  to  assume  that 
your  spirit  is  as  broad  as  your  invitation  ;  that  you  have  call- 
ed me  to  speak  because  you  desired  to  hear  me  speak  my  own 
sentiments,  and  not  to  see  how  well  I  can  accommodate  any 
favorite  opinion  held  by  yourselves." 

It  would  be  impossible  to  preserve  in  an  abstract  the  identi- 
ty of  his  peculiar  twofold  view  of  the  atonement  as  given  in 
this  address.  The  difficulty  of  comprehension  lies,  not  in 
getting  the  meaning  of  any  one  passage,  but  in  grasping  and 
blending  into  one  the  two  opposing  views  of  the  subject. 
His  subjective  and  objective  views  were  to  him  only  comple- 
mentary aspects  of  the  same  thought,  not  diverse  or  contra- 
dictory in  their  natures,  but  essentially  one,  and  each  as  nec- 
essary to  the  full-orbed  truth  as  the  two  pictures  painted  on 
the  retina  are  necessary  to  the  one  rounded  image  in  the  sen- 
sorium  of  the  brain.  The  subjective  view  is  sufficiently  sim- 
ple and  comprehensible.  To  many  minds  it  is  all-sufficient, 
and  needs  no  supplement.  Stating  it  most  briefly,  "•  Christ 
is  a  manifestation  in  humanity  of  the  Eternal  Life  of  the 
Father, — entering  into  a  prison-world  to  set  its  soul-captives 
free ;  by  his  incarnate  charities  and  sufferings,  to  re-engage 
the  world's  love  and  reunite  it  to  the  Father;  in  one  con- 


198  LIFE   OF   HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

densed,  luminous  utterance,  every  word  of  which  is  power, 
God  Avas  in  Christ,  reconciling  the  world  unto  himself."  In 
the  objective  or  ritualistic  view,  which  he  is  fond  of  calling 
the  "Altar  Form,"  he  attempts  to  revivify  the  ancient  and 
Sci'iptural  types  or  figures  of  speech  applied  to  the  sacrifice 
and  atonement  of  Christ,  interpreting  these  figures  not  in 
the  literal  manner  of  orthodoxy,  but  by  a  more  poetic  and 
vital  method  of  appropriating  their  inner  spiritual  signifi- 
cance. This  method  of  interpretation  is  in  harmony  with  his 
theory  of  the  use  of  language,  and  is  one  which  he  applied  in 
his  treatment  of  all  kindred  subjects. 

On  the  15th  of  August,  he  gave,  as  Concio  ad  Clerum,  at 
Yale  College,  a  "  Discourse  on  the  Divinity  of  Christ."  He 
says,  in  beginning, — "  It  is  laid  npon  me  by  the  General  Asso- 
ciation of  Connecticut  to  discuss  before  you  this  evening  the 
Divinity  of  Christ, — a  duty  which  I  most  willingly  undertake, 
because  I  think  the  time  has  now  come  when  a  reinvestiga- 
tion of  the  subject  will  be  more  likely  than  at  any  former  pe- 
riod to  issue  in  a  practical  settlement,  or  approach  to  settle- 
ment, of  the  questions  involved." 

The  argument  on  this  most  difficult  of  subjects  is  made  as 
simple  as  possible  by  the  method  of  approach.  Avoiding  all 
technicalities  and  speculations  abo^it  the  subject,  he  is  content 
to  gaze  at  it  as  an  astronomer  gazes  at  the  heavenly  bodies,  to 
learn,  by  looking,  the  profoundest  wonders  they  can  reveal. 

In  striking  contrast  with  these  addresses  was  his  Phi-Beta- 
Kappa  oration  on  "  Work  and  Play,"  given  on  the  24th  of 
August,  the  day  after  Commencement  at  Harvard.  These 
widely  different  expressions  of  himself,  showing  two  so  dif- 
ferent sides  of  the  man,  sprung,  in  perfect  harmony  and  con- 
sistency, from  one  source, — his  abundantly  living,  M'orking, 
playing  heart.  The  profounder  thought  of  the  year,  em- 
bodied in  his  three  theological  addresses,  found  a  delicious 
overflow  in  the  sparkling  play  of  the  oration.  They  are  all 
the  outcome  of  one  strong  inward  impulse,  a  hidden  fire 
which  burst  into  flame  wherever  it  found  vent.  It  was  one 
most  notable  characteristic  of  his  manhood  that  it  moved  sol- 
idly and  totally  under  an  inspiration,  and  that  a  religious  ex- 


WORK  AND   PLAY.      ^  199 

perience  expressed  itself  in  him  as  naturally  tliroiigli  a  spor- 
tive exuberance  as  through  the  fervors  of  devotion.* 

Dr.  Bartol,  whose  genial  hospitality  he  received,  for  the  first 
time,  on  the  occasion  of  these  visits  to  Cambridge,  has  said  of 
him,  with  reference  to  this  time :  "  Dr.  Bushnell,  though  prob- 
ing or  plunging  into  the  subtlest  questions,  was  an  artist,  a 
singer,  soaring  on  wings  as  he  sung;  and  probably  no  oration 
at  Cambridge  had  ever  resounded  more  sweetly  afar  than  his, 
in  1848,  on  '  Work  and  Play.'  In  his  writing  and  speaking, 
was  transcendent  and  consummate,  though  unconscious,  art. 
He  was  cast  in  the  rarest  mould  of  the  great  Sculptor's  fash- 
ion and  design ;  but  his  unblemished  deportment  was  his 
wedding  garment,  and  his  transport  of  devotion  his  daily  as- 
sumption into  the  skies." 

In  a  letter  to  Dr.  Bartol,  written  in  the  interval  between 
his  two  visits  to  Cambridge,  in  reply  to  an  invitation  to 
preach,  he  says  : — 

"  I  find  now  that,  under  my  feeble  health  and  my  many 
loads  of  labor,  I  shall  be  obliged  to  take  all  the  time  I  can. 
I  shall  not  leave  here,  therefore,  till  the  last  moment,  and 
shall  go  directly  to  Cambridge.     If  I  can  manage,  on  return- 

*  President  Porter,  in  his  address  on  Dr.  Bushnell,  given  at  Yale,  elo- 
quently expresses  a  kindred  thought : — "  It  was  certainly  true  of  Dr. 
Bushnell,  that  the  more  of  a  Christian  he  became,  the  more  individual 
he  was.  Everything  that  was  characteristic  of  him  flourished  in  the 
sunshine  of  his  faith.  If  Christ  was  his,  everything  was  his,  and,  most 
of  all,  his  living  self  His  faith  also  increased  his  energy.  It  stimulated 
his  imagination.  It  gave  it  form  and  power.  Before  his  new  life  of 
faith,  the  poet  in  him  was  scarcely  known  to  himself  But  after  his  eye 
w^ns  opened  to  tliose  inspiring  realities  that  engird  and  penetrate  this 
world  of  sense,  he  found  himself  possessed  of  a  poet's  imagery  and  a 
poet's  fervor.  His  literary  resources  were  enlarged  a  hundred-fold  by 
the  elevating  power  of  his  faith.  His  faith  also  increased  his  joy  in  nat- 
ure. It  softened  his  heart  towards  man.  It  kindled  and  sustained  his 
public  spirit.  It  justified  his  ardent  hopefulness  in  human  jDrogress  by 
his  faith  in  the  resources  that  are  provided  for  man  in  Christ.  It  stimu- 
lated his  inventive  activity,  as  it  warranted  the  hopefulness  in  which  his 
sanguine  nature  rejoiced.  It  increased  his  sympathy  with  men,  and 
therefore  made  him  more  brilliant  in  conversation  and  more  genial  in 
society," 

14 


200  LIFE  OF   HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

ing  from  a  little  excursion,  to  spend  a  Sunday  in  Boston,  I 
will  certainly  preach  for  you.  I  don't  know  but  I  am  to  be 
burnt  out  or  smoked  out  of  orthodoxy  on  account  of  my 
heresies ;  if  I  do,  I  shall  want  a  place  somewhere, — perhaps 
Dr.  Lowell  will  take  a  second  colleague ! 

"  I  have  thought  over,  a  great  many  times,  the  very  pleas- 
ant and  refreshing  talks  I  have  had  with  you,  on  subjects  so 
dear  to  us  both ;  and  it  will  be  one  of  my  most  valued  j^leas- 
ures  to  renew  these  interviews  hereafter, — in  the  great  Here- 
after itself." 

The  interesting  events  of  this  summer, — the  hearing  of  the 
Concio  ad  Clemm  in  company  with  an  expectant  and  excited 
audience,  the  brilliant  day  of  the  Harvard  oration,  the  kind 
hospitalities  of  Dr.  Bartol,  a  day's  excursion  to  Nahant^  a 
journey  to  the  White  Mountains  and  Maine,  and  finally  the 
hearing  of  the  culminating  address  at  Andover  in  September 
— were  pleasures  shared  and  valued  to  the  full  by  Mrs.  Bush- 
nell.  In  this  third  and  last  address,  just  mentioned,  entitled 
"  Dogma  and  Spirit,"  he  applies  practically  his  everywhere 
pervasive  idea  of  Christ  as  a  manifestation  of  God,  to  the 
subject  of  a  true  Ileviving  of  Religion,  in  distinction  from 
sporadic  manifestations  of  the  Spirit,  or  revwals.  His  ideal 
is  "  an  era  of  renovated  faith,  spreading  from  circle  to  circle 
through  the  whole  Church  of  God  on  earth ;  the  removal  of 
divisions,  the  smoothing  away  of  asperities,  the  realization  of 
love  as  a  bond  of  perfectness  in  all  the  saints."  Opinion,  re- 
solving itself  by  the  sanction  of  authority  into  Dogma,  he 
conceives  to  have  been  most  hostile  to  the  spirit  and  life  of 
Christianity.  "  What  is  loftiest  and  most  transcendent  in  the 
character  of  God — his  purity,  goodness,  beauty,  and  gentleness 
— can  never  be  sufficiently  apprehended  by  mere  intellect. 
It  requires  a  heart,  a  good,  right-feeling  heart,  to  receive  so 
much  of  heart  as  God  opens  to  us  in  the  gospel  of  Christ. 
Indeed,  the  gospel  is,  in  one  view,  a  magnificent  Avork  of  art, 
a  manifestation  of  God,  which  is  to  find  the  world  and  move 
it  and  change  it,  through  the  medium  of  expression.  Hence 
it  requires  for  an  inlet,  not  reason,  or  logic,  or  a  scientific  pow- 
er, so  much  as  a  right  sensibility.    The  true  and  only  sufiicient 


DR.  BACON  ON  THE  DISCOURSES.  201 

interpreter  of  it  is  an  oistlietic  talent,  viz.,  the  talent  of  love, 
or  a  sensibility  exalted  and  pnrified  by  love.  ...  In  this  mat- 
ter of  head  and  heart,  you  may  figure  the  head  or  understand- 
ing, it  seems  to  me,  as  being  that  little  plate  of  wood  hung 
upon  the  stern  of  the  vessel,  that  very  small  helm,  by  which 
the  ship  is  turned  about  whithersoever  the  governor  listeth. 
But  the  heart  is  the  full,  deep  body  of  the  ship  itself,  with  its 
sails  lifted  to  the  breath  of  a  divine  inspiration,  containing  in 
itself  the  wealth,  the  joy,  and  all  the  adventuring  passions, 
wants,  and  fears  of  the  soul.  .  .  .  And  when  the  great  heart 
of  faith  is  not  parting  the  waves  before  it,  and  rushing  on  to 
its  haven,  the  busy  understanding  is  but  a  vain  and  idle  thing, 
swinging  round  and  round  with  an  addled  motion,  whose  ac- 
tions and  reactions  are  equal,  and  which,  therefore,  profit 
nothing. 

"  Oh,  what  momentum,  and  power,  and  grandeur  will  Chris- 
tianity reveal  when  a  true  Pauline  devotion  to  God  is  kindled 
in  the  whole  Church,  when  the  opinions  of  the  head  cease  to 
be  supreme,  when  the  petty  tyranny  of  formulas  and  dogmas 
falls  back,  dethroned,  and  the  full,  living  heart  of  the  Church 
is  offered,  without  subtraction,  to  the  occupancy  of  Christ 
and  the  power  of  his  cross  !" 

Of  these  Discourses  the  Rev.  Dr.  Leonard  Bacon  says  : — 

"In  1848,  it  became  the  duty  of  the  Association  of  Pastors,  in  which 
Dr.  Bushnell  was  a  member,  to  nominate  one  from  among  themselves  as 
preacher  of  the  Concio  ad  CUrum,  at  the  annual  Commencement  in  New 
Haven.  The  General  Association,  representing  the  entire  body  of  the 
Congregational  clergy  in  Connecticut,  had  previously  designated  the 
subject,  '  the  Divinity  of  Christ.'  I  think  I  may  say  that  Dr.  Bush- 
nell was  appointed  to  that  service,  not  only  because  of  his  recognized 
ability,  but  no  less  because  of  the  certainty  that  he  would  readily  ac- 
cept so  fair  an  opportunity  of  declaring  his  judgment  on  that  cardinal 
question  between  the  Evangelical  system  and  the  Unitarian.  It  was, 
therefore,  with  much  more  than  ordinary  interest  that  a  large  assemljly 
of  clergy  and  intelligent  laity  listened  to  the  Concio  in  1848.  Those  who 
had  most  admired  and  honored  the  preacher,  rejoiced  to  hear  from  Iiim 
so  powerful  an  argument  for  the  doctrine  of '  God  manifest  in  the  flesh.' 
Their  confidence  in  him  was  strengthened.  At,  the  same  time,  the  char- 
acteristic independence  of  his  thinking  on  that  high  theme,  and  his  fear- 
less rejection  of  ancient  phraseology,  more  metaphysical  than  Scriptural, 


202  LIFE  OF   HORACE   BUSHNELL. 

were  sufficiently  startling.  Nobody  who  heard  that  sermon  could  say 
that  the  preacher  was  a  Unitarian.  Yet  there  was  room  to  ask :  Is  he 
orthodox  ?  Is  he  not  chargeable  with  dangerous  tendencies  ?  Will  he 
not,  after  all,  become  a  Unitarian  ?  Probably  none  were  conscious  of 
asking :  Can  we  not  drive  him  into  the  Unitarian  ranks  ?  If  the  first 
and  second  discourses  were  startling  to  many  a  good  man,  whose  mind 
could  move  only  in  well-worn  grooves  of  thought,  much  more  was  the 
third.  The  hearers,  and  those  to  whom  the  report  came  of  what  was 
heard,  had  expected  something  new  and  strange,— perhaps  something 

ominous  of  ecclesiastical  disturbance ;  and  they  were  not  disappointed 

"  By  this  time  it  had  become  evident  that  Dr.  Bushnell  was  not  a  Uni- 
tarian. But  what  was  he,  and  what  was  to  be  done  with  him  ?  Here 
was  a  strong  man,  driving  the  ploughshare  deep  into  the  subsoil  of 
theology ;  and  who  could  tell  what  would  spring  up  in  such  furrows  ? 
Here  was  a  man,  reverent  indeed  towards  God,  but  with  little  regard  for 
human  authority,  analyzing  old  formulas  of  doctrine,  '  searching  what 
and  what  manner '  of  revelation  the  Spirit  of  Christ  had  signified  in 
the  Scriptures,  and  '  with  fear  of  change  perplexing '  doctors  of  divinity. 
Could  he  be  refuted  ?  Certainly.  Nothing  was  easier  than  to  refute 
him  by  the  ordinary  methods  of  theological  controversy.  Make  him 
responsible  for  all  possible  inferences  from  his  language,  call  him  by 
hard  names  fished  up  out  of  the  chaos  of  post-Nicene  and  ante-Nicene 
controversies,  prove  him  guilty  of  dangerous  complicity  with  Monothe- 
lite,  Monophysite,  Patripassian,  and  Sabellian  errors ;  and  would  not 
the  refutation  be  complete  ?" 

In  speaking  of  these  addresses,  our  aim  lias  been,  thus  far, 
not  to  give  their  contents,  but  rather  to  iHustrate  their  ani- 
mating spirit,  and  show  the  rehation  they  bore  to  the  inner 
history  of  the  year.  Having  thus  considered  them  historical- 
ly, in  the  order  in  which  they  were  delivered,  it  now  remains 
to  look  upon  them  as  consolidated  in  one  book, "  God  in 
Christ,"  published  the  following  winter.  Having  changed 
their  order,  placing  first  that  on  the  "  Divinity  of  Christ,"  de- 
livered at  New  Haven  ;  second,  the  Cambridge  address  on  the 
"Atonement ;"  and,  third,  that  given  at  Andover, — he  prefaced 
the  whole,  not  only  by  an  explanatory  "  Introduction,"  but 
by  a  "  Dissertation  on  Language,"  which  he  considered  the 
key  to  his  line  of  thought  throughout  the  book,  and  essential 
to  a  fair  understanding  of  it ;  "  for,"  he  says,  "  if  these  views 
of  language  have  been  historically  introductory  to  me,  it  is 
hardly  possible  that  others  will  enter  fully  into  my  positions 


DISSERTATION  ON  LANGUAGE.  203 

without  any  introduction  at  all."  And  these  views  are  equal- 
ly necessary  to  a  vital  understanding  of  all  his  future  writ- 
ings, for  upon  this  foundation  the  whole  structure  was  reared ; 
or,  in  another  sense,  they  form  the  key-stone,  without  which 
the  arch  would  lack  coherence  and  solidity.  Here^  we  repeat 
with  emphasis,  is  the  key  to  Horace  Sushnell,  to  the  whole 
scheme  of  his  thought,  to  that  peculiar  manner  of  expression 
which  marked  his  individuality,— in  a  word,  to  the  man. 

We  shall  therefore  quote  freely  from  the  Dissertation,  not 
attempting  to  show  the  whole  framework  of  its  argument, 
but  simply  to  give  its  main  statements : — 

"We  find, then,  that  every  language  contains  two  distinct  departments : 
the  physical  department, — that  which  provides  names  for  things;  and 
the  intellectual  department,  —  that  which  provides  names  for  thought 
and  spirit.  In  the  former,  names  are  simple  representatives  of  things, 
which  even  the  animals  may  learn.  In  the  latter,  the  names  of  things 
are  used  as  representatives  of  thought,  and  cannot,  therefore,  be  learn- 
ed save  by  beings  of  intelligence — {intus  lego) — that  is,  beings  who  can 
read  the  inner  sense,  or  receive  the  inner  contents  of  words ;  beings  in 
whom  the  Logos  of  the  creation  finds  a  correspondent  logos,  or  reason, 
to  receive  and  employ  the  types  it  offers  in  their  true  power.  ...  In  this 
view,  which  it  is  not  rash  to  believe  will  some  time  be  fully  established, 
the  outer  world  is  seen  to  be  a  vast  menstruum  of  thought  or  intelli- 
gence. There  is  a  logos  in  the  forms  of  things,  by  which  they  are  pre- 
pared to  serve  as  types  or  images  of  what  is  inmost  in  our  souls ;  and 
then  there  is  a  logos  of  construction  in  the  relations  of  space,  the  posi- 
tion, qualities,  connections,  and  predicates  of  things,  by  which  they  are 
framed  into  grammar.  In  one  word,  the  outer  world,  which  envelops 
our  being,  is  itself  language,  the  power  of  all  language.  '  Day  unto  day 
uttereth  speech,  and  night  unto  night  showeth  knowledge;  there  is  no 
speech  nor  language  where  their  voice  is  not  heard, — tlieir  line  is  gone 
out  through  all  the  earth,  and  their  words  to  the  end  of  the  world.' 

"  And  if  the  outer  world  is  the  vast  dictionary  and  grammar  of  thought 
we  speak  of,  then  it  is  also  itself  an  organ,  throughout,  of  Intelligence. 
Whose  intelligence  ?  By  this  question  wx  are  set  directly  confronting 
God,  the  universal  Author,  no  more  to  hunt  for  him  by  curious  argu- 
ments and  subtle  deductions,  if  happily  we  may  find  him ;  but  he  stands 
expressed  everywhere,  so  that,  turn  whichsoever  way  we  please,  we  behold 
the  outlooking  of  his  intelligence.  .  .  . 

"  We  pass  now  to  the  application  of  these  views  of  language,  or  the 
power  they  are  entitled  to  have,  in  matters  of  moral  and  religious  inquiry, 
and  especially  in  Christian  theology.  .  .  . 


204  LIFE   OF   HORACE   BUSHNELL. 

"  Words  of  tliouglit  and  spirit  are  possible  in  language,  only  in  virtue 
of  the  fact  that  there  are  forms  j^rovided  in  the  world  of  sense,  ■which 
are  cognate  to  the  mind,  and  fitted,  bj'  reason  of  some  hidden  analog}', 
to  represent  or  express  its  interior  sentiments  and  thoughts.  ...  It  fol- 
lows that,  as  physical  terms  are  never  exact,  being  only  names  of  genera, 
much  less  have  we  any  terms  in  the  spiritual  department  of  language 
that  are  exact  representatives  of  thought.  .  .  . 

"  Words  of  thought  or  sjiirit  are  not  only  inexact  in  their  significance, 
never  measuring  the  truth  or  giving  its  precise  equivalent,  but  they  al- 
ways affirm  something  which  is  false,  or  contrary  to  the  truth  intended. 
They  impute /o/vh  to  that  which  is  really  out  of  form.  They  are  related 
to  the  truth  only  as  form  to  spirit, — earthen  vessels  in  which  the  truth 
is  borne,  yet  always  offering  their  mere  pottery  as  being  the  truth  it- 
self. .  .  . 

"A  veiy  great  share  of  our  theological  questions,  or  disputes,  originate 
in  the  incapacity  of  the  parties  to  separate  truths  from  their  forms,  or  to 
see  how  the  same  essential  truth  may  clothe  itself  under  forms  that  are 
repugnant.  .  .  . 

"  Since  all  words  but  such  as  relate  to  necessary  truths  are  inexact 
representations  of  thought,  mere  types  or  analogies,  or,  where  the  types 
are  lost  beyond  recovery,  only  proximate  expressions  of  the  thoughts 
named,  it  follows  that  language  will  be  ever  trying  to  mend  its  own  de- 
ficiencies by  multiplying  its  forms  of  representation.  As,  too,  the  words 
made  use  of  generally  carry  something  false  with  them,  as  well  as  some- 
thing true,  associating  form  with  the  truths  re2>resented,  when  really 
there  is  no  form,  it  will  also  be  necessary,  on  this  account,  to  multiply 
words  or  figures,  and  thus  to  present  the  subject  on  opposite  sides  or 
many  sides.  Thus,  as  form  battles  form,  and  one  form  neutralizes  an- 
other, all  the  insufficiencies  of  words  are  filled  out,  the  contrarieties  liq- 
uidated, and  the  mind  settles  into  a  full  and  just  apprehension  of  the 
pure  spiritual  truth.  Accordingly,  we  never  come  so  near  to  a  truly 
well-rounded  view  of  any  truth  as  when  it  is  offered  paradoxically;  that 
is,  under  contradictions ;  that  is,  under  two  or  more  dictions,  which, 
taken  as  dictions,  are  contrary  one  to  the  other. 

"...  Precisely  here,  too,  I  suppose,  we  come  upon  what  is  really  the 
true  conception  of  the  Incarnation  and  the  Trinity.  These  great  Chris- 
tian mysteries  or  paradoxes  come  to  pass  under  the  same  conditions  or 
laws  which  j^ertain  to  language.  All  words  are,  in  fact,  only  incarna- 
tions, or  insensings  of  thought.  If  we  investigate  the  relations  of  their 
forms  to  the  truths  signified,  we  have  the  same  mystery  before  us;  if  we 
set  the  diff'erent  but  related  forms  in  comparison,  we  have  the  same  as- 
pect of  repugnance  or  inconsistency.  And  then  we  have  only  to  use  the 
repugnant  forms  as  vehicles  of  inwe  thought,  dismissing  the  contradic- 
tory matter  of  the  forms;  and  both  words  and  the  Word  are  understood 
without  distraction, — all  by  the  same  process. 


DISSERTATION  ON  LANGUAGE.  205 

..."  There  is  no  book  in  the  world  that  contains  so  many  repug- 
nances, or  antagonistic  forms  of  assertion,  as  the  Bible.  Therefore,  if  any 
man  please  to  play  off  his  constructive  logic  upon  it,  he  can  easily  show 
it  up  as  the  absurdest  book  in  the  world.  But  whosoever  wants,  on  the 
other  hand,  really  to  behold  and  receive  all  truth,  and  would  have  the 
truth-world  overhang  him  as  an  empyrean  of  stars,  complex,  multitudi- 
nous, striving  antagonistically,  yet  comprehended,  height  above  height, 
and  deep  under  deep,  in  a  boundless  score  of  harmony, — what  man  so- 
ever, content  with  no  small  rote  of  logic  and  catechism,  reaches  with  true 
hunger  after  this,  and  will  offer  himself  to  the  many-sided  forms  of  the 
Scripture  Avith  a  perfectly  ingenuous  and  receptive  spirit, — he  shall  find 
his  nature  flooded  with  senses,  vastnesses,  and  powers  of  truth  such  as  it 
is  even  greatness  to  feel.  .  .  . 

"  How,  then,  are  we  to  receive  it  and  come  into  its  truth  ?  Only  in  the 
comprehensive  manner  just  now  suggested;  not  by  desti'oying  the  re- 
pugnances, but  by  allowing  them  to  stand,  offering  our  mind  to  their  im- 
pressions, and  allowing  it  to  gravitate  inwardly  towards  that  whole  of 
truth  in  which  they  coalesce.  And  when  w^e  are  in  that  whole,  we  shall 
have  no  dozen  propositions  of  our  own  in  which  to  give  it  forth;  neither 
will  it  be  a  whole  which  we  can  set  before  the  world,  standing  on  one 
leg,  in  a  perfectly  definite  shape,  clear  of  all  mystery ;  but  it  will  be  such 
a  whole  as  requires  a  whole  universe  of  rite,  symbol,  incarnation,  historic 
breathings,  and  poetic  fires  to  give  it  expression, — in  a  word,  just  what 
it  now  has.  .  .  . 

"  The  views  of  language  and  interpretation  I  have  here  offered  suggest 
the  very  great  difficulty,  if  not  impossibility,  of  mental  science  and  relig- 
ious dogmatism.  In  all  such  uses  or  attempted  uses,  the  effort  is  to  make 
language  answer  a  purpose  that  is  against  its  nature.  Tiie  '  winged 
words '  are  required  to  serve  as  beasts  of  burden ;  or,  what  is  no  better, 
to  forget  their  poetic  life  as  messengers  of  the  air,  and  stand  still,  fixed 
upon  the  ground,  as  wooden  statues  of  truths.  Which,  if  they  seem  to 
do ;  if,  to  comfort  our  studies  of  dogma,  they  assume  the  inert  faces  we 
desire,  and  suffer  us  to  arrange  the  fixed  attitudes  of  their  bodies,  yet,  as 
little  Memnons  touched  and  made  vocal  by  the  light,  they  will  be  dis- 
coursing still  of  the  free  empyrean,  disturbing  and  scattering  by  their 
voices  all  the  exact  meanings  we  had  thought  to  hold  them  to  in  the 
nice  corporeal  order  of  our  science.  ... 

"  What  is  the  Christian  truth  ?  Pre-eminently,  and  principally,  it  is 
the  expression  of  God, — coming  into  expression  through  histories  and 
rites,  through  an  incarnation,  and  through  language, — in  one  syllable,  by 
the  Word.  The  endeavor  is,  by  means  of  expression  and  under  the  laws 
of  expression,  to  set  forth  God, — his  providence  and  his  government,  and, 
what  is  more  and  higher  than  all,  God's  own  feeling,  his  truth,  love,  jus- 
tice, compassion. 

"  It  accords,  also,  with  this,  that,  while  natural  science  is  advancing 


206  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

with  so  great  rapidity  and  certainty  of  movement,  the  advances  of  men- 
tal science  are  so  irregular  and  obscure,  and  are  wrought  out  by  a  pro- 
cess so  conflicting  and  tortuous.  There  is,  however,  one  hope  for  mental 
and  religious  truth,  and  their  final  settlement,  which  I  confess  I  see  but 
dimly,  and  can  but  faintly  express  or  indicate.  It  is,  that  physical  sci- 
ence, leading  the  way,  setting  outward  things  in  their  true  proportions, 
opening  up  their  true  contents,  revealing  their  genesis  and  final  causes 
and  laws,  and  weaving  all  into  the  unity  of  a  real  universe,  will  so  per- 
fect our  knowledges  and  conceptions  of  them,  that  we  can  use  them  in 
the  second  department  of  language  with  more  exactness ;  .  .  .  for,  un- 
doubtedly, the  whole  universe  of  nature  is  a  perfect  analogon  of  the 
whole  universe  of  thought  or  spirit.  Therefore,  as  nature  becomes  truly 
a  universe  only  through  science  revealing  its  universal  laws,  the  true  uni- 
verse of  thought  and  spirit  cannot  sooner  be  conceived.  It  would  be 
easy  to  show,  in  this  connection,  the  immense  force  already  exerted  over 
the  empire  of  spiritual  truth  by  astronomy,  chemistry,  geology,  the  reve- 
lations of  light  and  electricity,  and  especially  of  the  mysterious  and  plas- 
tic workings  of  life  in  the  animal  and  vegetable  kingdoms.  We  are  ac- 
customed to  say  that  this  is  not  the  same  world  to  live  in  that  it  was 
fifty  years  ago.  Just  as  true  is  it  that  it  is  not  the  same  world  to  think 
in  that  it  then  was." 

In  the  course  of  some  additional  remarks  upon  the  uses  of 
language,  he  says,  doubtless  with  reference  to  the  charges  of 
obscurity  made  against  his  writings : — 

"  Shall  I  dare  go  further  ?  Shall  I  say  that  of  all  the  '  clear '  writers  I 
have  ever  met  with, — those,  I  mean,  who  are  praised  by  the  multitude 
for  their  transparency, — I  have  never  yet  found  one  who  was  able  to  send 
me  forward  an  inch,  or  one  that  was  really  true,  save  in  a  certain  superfi- 
cial or  pedagogical  sense,  as  being  an  accurate  distributor  of  that  which 
is  known.  The  roots  of  the  known  are  always  in  the  unknown  ;  and  if 
a  man  will  never  show  the  root  of  anything,  if  he  will  treat  of  the  known 
as  separate  from  the  unknown,  and  as  having  a  complete  knowledge  of  it, 
which  he  has  not,— pretending  still  to  be  an  investigator,  and  to  exert  an 
obstetric  force,  when  he  is  only  handling  over  old  knowledge  and  impres- 
sions,—he  may  easily  enough  be  clear.  Nothing,  in  fact,  is  easier,  if  one 
is  either  able  to  be  shallow  or  willing  to  be  false.  He  is  clear  because 
he  stands  out  before  the  infinite  and  the  unknown ;  separate,  bounded- 
oflf  [de-finite],  so  that  you  see  the  whole  compass  of  his  head,  just  so 
many  inches  in  diameter.  But  the  writer  who  is  to  help  us  on,  by  some 
real  advance  or  higher  revelation,  will,  for  that  reason,  be  less  compre- 
hensible, and  offer  more  things  hard  to  be  understood.  He  will  be,  as  it 
were,  a  face,  setting  out  from  a  background  of  mystery ;  a  symbolism, 
through  which  the  infinite  and  the  unknown  are  looking  out  upon  us, 


EFFECT  OF  THESE  VIEWS  UPON  IIIS  WRITTEN  STYLE.    207 

and,  by  kind  significances,  tempting  us  to  struggle  into  that  holy  but 
dark  profound  which  they  are  opening.  Of  course,  we  are  not  to  make 
a  merit  of  obscurity ;  for  notliing  is  more  to  be  admired  than  the  won- 
drous art  by  which  some  men  are  able  to  propitiate  and  assist  the  gener- 
ative understanding  of  others,  so  as  to  draw  them  readily  into  higher 
realizations  of  truth.  But  there  is  a  limit,  we  must  acknowledge,  even  to 
this  highest  power  of  genius;  it  cannot  quite  create  a  soul  under  the  ribs 
of  death.  ... 

"  In  this  matter  of  trinity  and  atonement,  though  I  am  as  far  as  possi- 
ble from  all  mere  phantasm  or  allegory,  adhering  strictly  to  the  Scripture 
representations,  I  seem  to  encounter  the  same  difficulty  with  poor  Bun- 
yan  when  he  consults  his  friends  in  regard  to  the  publication  of  his  '  Pil- 
grim.' Many  prophesy  that  his  book  will  not  'stand  when  soundly 
tried  ' — that  is,  I  suppose,  when  tried  by  the  dialectic  methods  of  specu- 
lative theology — they  are  specially  scandalized  by  the  light  imaginative 
air  of  his  book,  and  tell  him  that  his  words  'want  solidness'  —  'meta- 
phors make  us  blind.'  But  he  rallies  courage  to  say,  and  his  reply  is 
even  more  to  the  point  for  me  than  for  him :  — 

"  'But  must  I  needs  want  solidness,  because 
By  metaphors  I  speak  ?    Were  not  God's  laws, 
His  gospel  laws,  iu  olden  time,  licld  fortli 
By  Shadows,  Types,  and  Metaphors?'  " 

And  here  he  foresaw  truly  the  fate  of  his  book.  The  judg- 
ment of  the  time  upon  "  God  in  Christ "  was  similar  to  that 
of  Bunyan's  friends  upon  the  Pilgrim.  Nor  have  more  re- 
cent times,  perhaps,  reversed  the  verdict  as  regards  the  special 
types  and  metaphors  under  which  his  thought  took  shape. 
IS^one  the  less  did  the  book  open  a  new  avenue  of  approach  to 
spiritual  truth,  which  has  never  again  been  closed. 

Our  study  of  this  subject  is  not  complete  without  some  ref- 
erence to  the  effect  of  his  views  of  language  upon  his  writ- 
ten style.  His  friend  Dr.  William  W.  Patton,  then  a  resident 
of  Hartford,  gives  this  interesting  account  of  a  conversation 
with  him,  at  the  time  when  he  w\as  under  trial  for  the  theo- 
logical opinions  of  the  book,  "  God  in  Christ :" — 

"  Dr.  Bushnell  and  myself  were  riding  together  to  a  meeting  of  the 
Hartford  Central  Association,  and  the  conversation  turned  on  theological 
discussions.  '  Why  is  it,'  said  I, '  that  you  complain  that  you  are  so  gen- 
erally misunderstood  ?  Where  you  are  criticised,  you  say  that  the  critics 
misapprehend  your  positions ;  and  they  reply  that  you  ought  to  express 
yourself  more  clearly.     Why  can  you  not  do  so  ?'     His  answer  was  sub- 


208  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

stantially  this:  'It  is  because  of  the  diflfereut  views  which  they  and  I 
take  of  the  human  soul  and  of  the  relation  of  language  to  spiritual  truth. 
They  succeed  easily  in  so  expressing  their  ideas  as  to  be  understood  by 
their  readers;  but  it  is  because  they  deal  with  subjects  mechanically,  and 
not  according  to  nature.  There,  for  instance,  is  Dr.  T ,  my  custom- 
ary assailant.  He  writes  about  the  human  spirit  as  if  it  were  a  machine 
under  the  laws  of  mechanics;  and,  of  course,  what  he  says  is  perfectly 
intelligible,  like  any  other  treatise  on  matter ;  only  wdiat  he  says  is  not 
true  !  But  I  conceive  of  the  soul  in  its  living  nature ;  as  free,  and  intelli- 
gent, and  sensitive ;  as  under  vital  and  not  mechanical  laws.  Language, 
too,  for  tliat  reason,  is  not  so  much  descriptive  as  suggestive,  being  figu- 
rative throughout,  even  w'here  it  deals  with  spiritual  truth.  Therefore, 
an  experience  is  needed  to  interpret  words.  Thus,  when  I  was  in  college 
I  once  undertook  to  read  Coleridge's  "  Aids  to  Reflection."  But  the  au- 
thor seemed  foggy  and  unintelligible,  and  I  closed  the  book,  and  put  it 
upon  my  book-shelves,  where  it  remained  a  long  time.  Meanwhile,  my 
mind  went  on  thinking  and  maturing ;  and  one  day,  my  eye  falling  on 
the  book,  I  took  it  down  and  began  to  read,  and,  behold,  all  was  lucid 
and  instructive !  And  so  it  will  be  some  time  with  my  writings.  Men 
will  read  them,  and  give  me  credit  for  perspicuity  instead  of  vagueness 
and  uncertainty.  That  will  be  when  they  have  truer  conceptions  of  the 
soul  and  of  language.' 

"  Such  is  the  substance  of  remarks  which  deejily  impressed  me  at  the 
time,  a,s  giving  his  own  point  of  view  of  himself  and  of  his  critics," 

John  T.  Sewall,  Professor  of  Homiletics  in  Bangor  Theo- 
logical Seminary,  published,  a  year  or  two  ago,  the  following 
letter  from  Dr.  Bushnell,  written  in  answer  to  the  question, 
whether  certain  marked  traits  in  his  style  were  the  result  of 
any  peculiar  method  of  training : — 

"I  was  brought  up  in  a  country  family,  ignorant  of  any 
but  country  society,  where  cultivated  language  in  conversa- 
tion was  unknown.  I  entered  college  late, — at  twenty-one 
years  of  age,  when  the  vernacular  type  of  language  is  cast, 
and  will  not  afterwards  commonly  be  much  altered.  I  came 
to  writing  with  no  stock  of  speech  but  this.  I  had  no  lan- 
guage, and  if  I  chanced  to  have  an  idea,  nothing  came  to  give 
it  expression.  The  problem  was,  in  fact,  from  that  point  on- 
ward, how  to  get  a  language,  and  where.  If  1  had  any  mod- 
el, it  was  Paley  ;  though  I  took  him  rather  as  encouragement 
than  as  a  model.  I  could  see  a  certain  beauty  in  his  plain  go- 
afoot  style ;  and  though  it  showed  nothing  very  remarkable 


ACQUISITION  OF  LANGUAGE  AND  STYLE.  209 

to  copy,  I  tlioiight  I  miglit  hope,  with  my  poor  vernacular 
outfit,  to  make  some  progress  towards  a  standard  thus  pitched 
for  pedestrian  attainment.  My  style  of  thinking  was  pitched, 
of  course,  in  the  same  key. 

"  By-and-by  it  fell  to  me  to  begin  the  reading  of  Coleridge. 
For  a  whole  half  year  I  was  buried  under  liis  'Aids  to  Reflec- 
tion,' and  trying  vainly  to  look  up  through.  I  was  quite  sure 
that  I  saw  a  star  glimmer,  but  I  could  not  quite  see  the  stars. 
My  habit  was  only  landscape  before ;  but  now  I  saw  enough 
to  convince  me  of  a  whole  other  world  somewhere  overhead, 
a  range  of  realities  in  higher  tier,  that  I  must  climb  after,  and, 
if  possible,  apprehend.  Shortly  after,  a  very  strong  lift  in  my 
religious  experience  came  as  a  waft  upon  my  inspirations, 
to  apprise  me  more  distinctly  of  their  existence,  and  of  the 
two-M^orld  range  that  belonged  to  me.  My  powers  seemed  to 
me  more  than  doubled  ;  and  where  was  the  language  to  serve 
me  in  such  higher  thoughts  as  I  might  have?  In  this  mood 
or  exigency,  I  discovered  how  language  built  on  physical  im- 
ages is  itself  two  stories  high,  and  is,  in  fact,  an  outfit  for  a 
double  range  of  uses.  In  one  it  is  literal,  naming  so  many 
roots,  or  facts  of  form  ;  in  the  other  it  is  figure,  figure  on  fig- 
ure, clean  beyond  the  dictionaries,  for  whatever  it  can  proper- 
ly signify.  Have  I  not  as  good  right  to  God's  images  as  any- 
body else  ever  had  before  me  ? 

"  AVriting  became,  in  this  manner,  to  a  considerable  extent, 
the  making  of  language,  and  not  a  going  to  the  dictionaries. 
I  have  dared  sometimes  to  put  myself  out  on  my  liberty. 
Finding  the  air  fall  of  wings  about  me,  buoyant  all  and  free, 
I  have  let  them  come  under  and  lift.  The  second,  third,  and 
thirtieth  senses  of  words — all  but  the  physical  first  sense — be- 
long to  the  empyrean,  and  are  given,  as  we  see  in  the  proph- 
ets, to  be  inspired  by.  Of  course  they  must  be  genuinely 
used — in  their  nature,  and  not  contrary  to  it.  We  learn  to 
embark  on  them  as  we  do  when  we  go  to  sea ;  and  when  the 
breeze  of  inspiration  comes,  we  glide.  Commonly  there  will 
be  a  certain  rhythm  in  the  motion,  as  there  is  in  waves,  and 
as  we  hear  in  ^olian  chords. 

"In  these  hastily  described  methods  it  will  be  seen  as  by 


210  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

suo:o;estion  how  tins  kind  of  culture  may  proceed.  And  to 
this  I  add : 

"  1.  Kever  take  a  model  to  be  copied.  When  that  is  be- 
ing done,  no  great  work  begins ;  the  fire  is  punky,  and  only 
smokes. 

"  2.  Never  try  to  create  a  fine  style,  or  say  things  beauti- 
fully. Go  to  the  tailor's  for  all  the  appearings.  But  if  one 
can  have  great  thoughts,  let  these  burst  the  shells  of  words,  if 
they  must,  to  get  expression.  And  if  they  are  less  rhythmic 
when  expressed  than  is  quite  satisfactory,  mere  thought,  mere 
head-work,  will,  of  course,  have  its  triartgulations,  and  ought 
to  have.  Add  now  great  inspirations,  great  movings  of  sen- 
timent, and  these,  just  so  long  as  the  gale  lasts,  will  set  every- 
thing gliding  and  flowing,  whether  to  order  or  not.  But  let 
no  one  think  to  be  gliding  always.  A  good  prose  motion  has 
some  thumping  in  it." 


LETTERS.  211 


CHAPTER  XI. 

1848-1850. 

LETTERS  TO  DR.  BARTOL.— PUBLICATION  OF  "GOD  IN  CHRIST." 
—REVIEWS.— LETTERS.— C.  C,  OR  CRITICUS  CRITICORUM.— DE- 
FENCE BEFORE  THE  HARTFORD  CENTRAL  ASSOCIATION.— 
LETTERS  AGAIN. 

To  Dr.  Bartol. 

Hartford,  October  11, 1848. 
My  dear  Feiend, — I  thank  yon  for  your  very  kind  letter. 
It  is  refreshing  to  know  somebody  that  dare  let  out  his  heart; 
for  I  begin  to  iind  that  I  am  looked  upon  hereabouts  as  a 
mortally  dangerous  person.  I  think  I  have  never  seemed 
to  be  quite  so  much  isolated  as  now ;  not  that  I  am  really 
and  finally  cast  off,  but  every  man  seems  to  say,  and  almost 
every  one  actually  says,  "When  is  the  book  coming  out?" 
that  being  the  date,  as  it  would  seem,  when  they  hope  to  be 
allowed  to  restore  their  suspended  confidence,  if  not  to  loosen 
their  suspended  retribution.  Instigated  in  this  way,  you  are 
right  in  supposing  that  I  am  busy  on  my  book.  I  heartily 
wish  it  were  out;  but  it  is  not,  and  I  can  hardly  guess  ^yhen 
it  will  be.  I  think  I  understand  how  much  is  depending  on 
it,  and,  of  course,  what  my  responsibilities  are.  Still,  though 
it  is  the  "  crisis  of  my  life,"  as  you  intimate,  I  suffer  no  anx- 
iety whatever  as  to  the  result.  Kot  because  it  may  not,  in 
one  view,  be  important  to  me,  but  because  I- am  willing  to 
trust  myself,  and  can  do  it  calmly,  to  God  and  the  conscious 
honesty  of  my  convictions.  I  have  a  certain  feeling,  too,  I 
will  not  deny,  that  if  what  I  am  about  to  say  should  be 
stifled  and  killed  by  an  over-hasty  judgment,  it  will  yet  rise 
again  the  third  day.  This  feeling  I  have,  not  in  exultation, 
it  seems  to  me,  not  so  much  in  the  shape  of  defiance,  as  in 


212  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

the  shape  of  consolation,  a  soft  whisper  that  lingers  round 
me  in  mj  studies,  to  hold  me  firm,  and  smooth  me  into  an 
even,  uncaring  spirit.  Still,  the  best  of  all  attitudes,  I  know, 
is  this — Let  me  do  the  right,  and  let  God  take  care  of  me.  I 
want  to  be  in  no  better  hands. 

I  have  been  reading,  since  I  saw  jou,  what  I  had  not  read 
before,  Neander's  "Planting  and  Training  of  the  Churches." 
I  recollect  a  conversation  we  had, — I  think  it  was  the  evening 
Dr.  Walker  was  with  us, — about  Paul,  etc.  I  wish  you  would 
read  the  part  which  gives  the  theology  of  the  apostles.  I 
have  done  so  with  profoundest  interest.  He  seems  to  hold  a 
subjective  and  objective  view  of  Christ,  closely  resembled  to 
that  which  I  have  tried  to  advance.  .  .  . 

To  the  Same. 

Hartford,  January  8, 1849. 

My  deae  Friend, — I  suppose  you  will  have  guessed  why 
I  have  delayed  answering  your  kind  note  so  long.  If  not,  I 
have  only  to  say  that  I  have  been  hunted  and  chased  by  my 
printers  at  such  a  rate  that  I  have  found  no  time  till  now  to 
breathe.  Your  beautiful  present*  is  made  to  a  child  only 
five  years  old,  and  yet  unable  to  read.  I  read  her  the  note, 
and  told  her  the  book  was  hers,  to  be  kept  till  she  was  old 
enough  to  value  it.  If  you  could  have  seen  her  little  eyes 
filled  with  tears,  you  would  not  need  to  be  told  of  her  thanks. 

My  book  is  now  in  the  hands  of  the  printers,  and  I  expect 
to  see  the  last  of  the  proof-sheets  to-morrow.  It  will  be  out 
in  a  week  or  ten  days.  I  shall  order  a  copy  delivered  to  you 
in  the  first  bundle  sent  to  Boston.  You  say  with  emphasis, 
— "  God  in  Christ^'' — in  your  letter.  I  had  just  then  fixed 
on  this  as  the  title  to  my  book.  My  hope  is  not  that  it  will 
convert  anybody  to  me  or  my  ways,  but,  what  is  dearer  to 
me  by  far  and  more  welcome, — that  it  wnll  start  up  inquiries 
of  a  different  type,  and  lead  to  thoughts  of  a  different  char- 
acter from  those  which  have  occupied  the  field  of  Kew  Eng- 
land theology,  and  so  to  revisions,  recastings,  new  affinities, 

*  A  copy  of  "  Robinson  Crusoe." 


LETTERS.  213 

more  faith  and  less  dogma,  and,  above  all,  to  a  more  cath- 
olic and  fraternal  spirit.  I  expect  to  be  set  npon  all  round 
the  circle;  and  yet  I  have  a  confidence  that  a  class  of  men 
who  have  heart  enough  to  go  into  the  aesthetic  side  of  re- 
ligion, and  eyes  to  see  something  besides  prepositional  wis- 
dom, will  admit  that  I  have  some  truth  in  my  representations. 
These,  I  think,  will  even  wonder  a  little  at  the  disturbance  I 
have  made  by  these  expositions. 

The  Discourses  are  all  enlarged  and  varied  ad  libitum, 
though  not  modified  in  sentiment,  except  that  the  one  at  An- 
dover  is  enlarged  in  the  subject.  I  have  prefixed  a  Disser- 
tation on  Language,  that  I  hope  will  be  read.  One  thing 
will  be  clear  to  many, — that  I  am  a  good  deal  more  for  a 
Theos  than  for  a  theology.  With  a  heart  full  of  refreshing 
Christian  remembrances,  I  am  your  brother, 

H.  BUSHNELL. 

To  the  Same. 

Hartford,  February  13, 1849. 

My  dear  Friend  and  Brother, — I  send  you  herewith  the 
long  forth-coming  book.  That  you  will  find  some  interest  in 
it  I  have  no  doubt,  if  it  is  only  for  my  sake.  I  only  wish  it 
were  more  exactly  what  it  should  be.  I  have  spoken  some- 
what freely  of  the  Unitarians  here  and  there,  as  I  have  of  the 
orthodox.  I  hope  they  will  not  be  any  more  angry  with  me 
than  I  expect  the  orthodox  to  be.  There  are  a  few  misprints 
in  the  book,  in  spite  of  all  my  care  to  avoid  them.  In  the 
first  half,  too,  of  the  Andover  discourse,  there  are  some  mud- 
dy sentences,  which  represent  the  muddy,  dyspeptic  state  I 
was  in, — exhausted  by  the  chase  the  printers  gave  me,  and 
confused  by  the  extra  demand  just  then  made  to  supply  two 
burnt  districts  of  copy,  where  the  printer  had  let  a  bundle  of 
copy  slide  down  into  his  lamp.  I  shall  try  to  mend  a  few 
deformities  of  this  kind  in  my  next  edition.  Until  then,  keep 
this ;  and  when  I  send  you  a  better,  you  can  give  it  away,  for 
I  want  you  to  have,  at  any  rate,  a  lamb  that  is  without  blem- 
ish, or,  if  not  a  lamb,  a  calf. 

I  rejoice  not  a  little  in  spirit  to  see  the  signs  that  are  be- 


21i  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

ginning  to  be  unfolded  of  a  new  spiritual  relation  between 
our  divided  families.  I  see  tokens  of  a  mitigation  of  repug- 
nance, and  a  more  indulgent  and  fraternal  charity,  some- 
times in  quarters,  too,  where  I  should  not  look  for  it.  I  re- 
joice, too,  in  the  fact  that  the  Unitarian  side  in  Boston  are 
evincing  just  now  signs  of  spiritual  life  that  rebuke  the  dul- 
ness  of  orthodoxy.  You  remember,  perhaps,  that  I  exj)ressed 
a  conviction  that  the  Unitarian  side  would  ultimately  take 
the  lead  of  orthodoxy  in  spiritual  vivacity  and  real  piety  of 
character.  I  am  more  and  more  confident  of  this,  and  noth- 
ing but  this  is  wanted  to  silence  all  controversy  and  comj)el  a 
fraternal  state.  Unitarians,  however,  will  need,  in  order  to 
this,  to  come  off  their  moralistic,  self-culturing  method,  cease 
to  think  of  a  character  developed  outwardly  from  their  own 
centre,  and  pass  over  by  faith  to  live  in  God,  which  only  is 
religion  or  Christianity.  It  is  to  be  what  God  in  Christ  and 
God  in  the  Spirit  w^ill  make  us,  and  what  we  cannot  be  in 
ourselves.  Give  my  love  to  Mrs.  B.  and  the  dear  daughter. 
Your  brother  in  Christ,  11.  Busunell. 

From  a  friend,  who  was  thoroughly  conversant  with  the 
whole  history  of  the  controversy  over  the  book,  we  have  the 
following  statement  of  the  facts  consequent  upon  its  pub- 
lication : — 

"At  the  time  of  the  publication  of  'God  in  Christ,' the  atmosphere 
was  sensitively  tremulous  with  suspicions  in  respect  to  the  orthodoxy  of 
the  author,  a  state  of  things  of  which  he  himself  was  not  ignorant.  On 
the  issue  of  the  book  from  the  press  in  February,  1849,  a  few  of  the  re- 
ligious newspapers  and  magazines  spoke  of  it  tolerantly,  one  or  two  per- 
haps kindly,  but  the  larger  number  with  decided  expressions  of  dissent 
and  denunciation.  The  May  number  of  the  Neio  Englander  for  that  year 
contained  a  notice  of '  God  in  Clirist '  from  the  pen  of  Dr.  Leonard  Bacon, 
kindly  in  tone,  and  marked  by  discrimination  and  fairness  in  the  state- 
ment of  its  teachings.  Two  ministers  residing  in  Hartford,  afterwards 
abundantly  friendly  to  Dr.  Bushuell,  published  lengthy  reviews,  more  or 
less  dissenting  from  its  statements  of  truth. 

"  But  these  criticisms,  and  others  such  as  these,  were  the  milk  of  hu- 
man kindness  itself,  compared  with  the  language  employed  by  another 
class  of  writers.  No  sooner  did  the  book  see  the  light  than  it  became 
apparent  that  the  theological  authorities  were  determined  to  strangle 


THEOLOGICAL  REVIEWERS.  215 

the  infant  in  its  very  cradle.  It  was  extensively  believed,  and  puljlicly 
charo-ed  at  the  time,  that  the  fierce  and  systematic  onset  which  was 
made  upon  the  author  and  his  new  work  was  the  result  of  a  concerted 
plan,  originating  in  Hartford  and  its  vicinity.  As  a  part  of  this  plan, 
the  leading  theological  centres  were  to  furnish  each  a  champion  to  assist 
in  crushing  the  man,  who,  though  he  had  denied  none  of  the  cardinal 
doctrines  of  Christianity,  had  ventured  to  express  his  ftiith  in  them 
under  formulas  and  philosophic  explanations  somewhat  different  from 
those  which  were  assumed  to  be  cauonically  settled  for  all  time. 

"  The  first  of  these  criticisms  came  from  the  Divinity  School  at  New 
Haven.  Under  the  caption, '  What  does  Dr.  Bushnell  mean  V  three  arti- 
cles, signed  '  Omicrou,'  appeared  in  successive  numbers  of  the  iVe?o  YorJc 
Emngellst.  On  their  completion,  these  were  gathered  into  a  pamphlet 
of  twenty-eight  pages  and  extensively  circulated.  In  the  course  of  a 
week  or  two,  Princeton  gave  her  weighty  verdict,  in  an  article  of  some 
forty  pages,  in  the  Biblical  Repertory  and  Princeton  Bevieic.  This,  thougli 
the  most  courteous  and  discriminating  of  all  the  reviews  proceeding 
from  centres  of  theologic  authority,  yet  failed  in  many  respects  to  rejire- 
sent  fairly  the  teachings  of  the  book,  and  pronounced  upon  its  alleged 
errors  with  judicial  severity.  The  next  assault  was  made  by  the  Chris- 
tian Ohservator-)/,  a  new  religious  monthly  published  in  Boston,  which 
devoted  sixty  pages  of  its  issue  for  June  to  a  criticism  of '  God  in  Christ.' 
The  tone  of  this  review  was  bitter  and  severe  to  a  degree  almost  un- 
equalled in  the  history  of  modern  controversial  theology.  About  the 
same  time,  from  Bangor  Theological  Seminary  emanated  a  volume  of 
one  hundred  and  eighteen  pages,  entitled  '  Review  of  Dr.  Bushnell's  God 
in  Christ ;'  a  book  characterized  by  the  calm  and  positively  assured  con- 
viction that  a  well-settled  theologic  system  is  the  one  touchstone  of  all 
truth,  and  that  the  regions  beyond  are  dangerous  ground,  not  worth  the 
exploring.  The  Theological  Seminary  at  East  Windsor  furnished  no 
formal  review,  but  performed  its  full  share  in  the  attempted  enterprise 
of  extinguishing  the  new  heresy  by  keeping  up  a  running  fire  against  it 
in  the  columns  of  the  Religious  Herald. 

"  From  this  detailed  account  it  is  seen  that  thunder-bolts  of  condem- 
nation were  aimed  at  the  devoted  liead  of  Horace  Bushnell  from  every 
quarter  of  the  theological  firmament,  and  in  quantity  there  were  enough 
of  them  to  have  demolished  a  full  score  of  heretics.  But  the  result  was 
a  marked  failure,  for  the  simple  reason  that  it  was  man's  thunder  and 
not  God's.  Many  honest-minded  Christian  people  were,  it  is  true,  thrown 
off  their  balance,  and,  in  the  excitement  of  the  hour,  were  led  to  unite  in 
the  outcry, '  Away  with  him  !'  And  even  some  of  his  personal  friends, 
though  holding  fast  their  confidence  in  his  doctrinal  integrity,  began  to 
entertain  apprehensions  lest,  as  a  consequence  of  the  clamor,  he  might 
lose  his  good  standing  in  the  orthodox  ministry.  The  critical  reviews, 
of  which  we  have  been  speaking,  unitedly  sustained  the  position  of  those 

15 


216  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

who  were  seeking  to  impair  Dr.  BusliueU's  ecclesiastical  standing,  and 
gave  them,  for  a  brief  time,  a  greatly  assured  boldness.  Had  not  the 
leading  authorities  adjudged  his  yiews  to  be  a  radical  departure  from 
orthodoxy  ?  How,  then,  could  the  public  mind  question  the  justice  of  a 
decision  pronounced  by  so  candid  and  competent  a  court  ? 

"  But  God  was  in  the  storm,  prei)aring  and  directing  the  agencies  which 
were  to  bring  about  in  the  coming  future  a  restoration  of  confidence; 
and,  as  the  chief  element  in  this  progress,  he  kept  the  object  of  all  this 
condemnation  in  a  spirit  of  serene  and  unperturbed  trust.  The  book 
was  written  under  a  sense  of  supreme  loyalty  to  the  truth,  and  sent  forth 
upon  its  public  mission  in  obedience  to  the  convictions  of  duty,  which,  in 
the  view  of  the  author,  were  only  another  name  for  the  voice  of  God. 
So  far  as  God  was  in  it,  God  would  take  care  of  it.  In  this  state  of  mind 
there  was  to  be  no  controversy  with  men ;  for,  to  go  down  into  the 
arena  of  theological  conflict,  was  it  not  to  contradict  the  design  with 
which  the  work  had  been  undertaken  ?  The  wisdom  of  this  course  was 
fully  vindicated ;  for  the  final  result  of  it  was,  that  ojoponents,  find- 
ing no  one  to  fight  back,  became  weary  witli  beating  the  air,  and  were 
obliged  to  retire  from  the  battle-field  without  a  single  trophy.  And, 
further,  there  can  be  very  little  doubt  that  Dr.  Bushnell's  calm  and  un- 
retaliating  Christian  temper,  during  these  intensely  trying  times,  saved 
the  churches  from  an  unhappy  disruption." 

Dr.  Buslinell  was,  in  fact,  prepared  for  this  trial,  knowing 
that  it  must  come,  and  having  deliberately  made  up  his  mind 
how  to  meet  it.  He  was  faithful  to  the  purpose  declared  in 
the  Introduction  to  his  book  of  never  replying  to  the  assaults 
made  upon  him.  He  did,  it  is  true,  explain  his  positions  to 
the  amount  of  another  volume,  tliat  he  miglit,  if  possible, 
make  himself  better  understood.  He  also  displayed- address 
and  legal  ability  when  he  checkmated,  on  several  important 
occasions,  the  ecclesiastical  moves  of  his  adversaries ;  but  he 
never  descended  for  a  moment  into  wrangling  over  disputed 
points,  in  a  word,  into  controversy.  His  published  compact 
with  himself  was  this : — 

"  Some  persons  anticipate,  I  perceive,  in  the  publication  of  these  Dis- 
courses, the  opening  of  another  great  religious  controversy.  There  may 
be  such  a  controversy,  but  I  really  do  not  see  whence  it  is  to  come ;  foi-, 
as  regards  myself,  I  am  quite  resolved  that  I  will  be  drawn  to  no  reply, 
unless  there  is  produced  against  me  some  argument  of  so  great  force 
that  I  feel  myself  required,  out  of  simple  duty  to  the  truth,  either  to  sur- 
render or  to  make  important  modifications  in  the  views  I  have  advanced. 
I  anticipate,  of  course,  no  such  necessity,  though  I  do  anticipate  that  ar- 


SILENCE  TO  BE  HIS   STRONGHOLD.  217 

gnmcnts  and  reviews  will  be  advanced  such  as  will  show  off  my  absurd- 
ities in  a  very  glaring  light,  and  such  as  many  persons  of  acknowledged 
character  will  accept  with  applause  as  conclusive,  or  even  explosive  refu- 
tations. Therefore,  I  advertise  it  beforehand,  to  prevent  a  misconstruction 
of  my  silence,  that  I  am  silenced  now,  on  the  publication  of  my  volume. 
It  has  been  a  question  whether  my  duty  to  the  truth  would  suffer  the 
taking  of  this  ground ;  but  I  have  come  to  the  opinion  that  replications 
arc  generally  of  little  use,  and  that,  though  the  truth  may  be  somewhat 
hindered  or  retarded  by  adverse  criticism,  it  will  yet  break  through  at 
last,  unassisted,  and  have  its  triumph.  Furthermore,  the  truths  here  ut- 
tered are  not  mine.  They  live  in  their  own  majesty.  Ought  I  not,  there- 
fore, to  believe  that,  going  forth  in  silence,  having  time  on  their  side,  and 
God  in  company,  they  will  open  their  way,  even  the  more  securely,  the 
less  of  human  bustle  and  tumult  is  made  in  their  behalf?  This  it  is  my 
happiness  to  think.  Therefore  I  drop  them  into  the  world,  leaving  them 
to  care  for  themselves,  and  assert  their  own  power." 

To  Dr.  Bartol. 

Hartford,  March  20, 1849. 

My  deak  Friend, — I  thank  you  most  heartily  for  your 
very  kind  letter,  and  also  for  the  very  indulgent  and,  I  fear, 
partial  judgment  you  are  able  to  give  my  book.  There  is  no 
man  living,  of  my  friends,  whose  good  opinion  I  should  value 
more.  How  refreshing  it  is  that  w^e  are  able  to  coalesce  in 
so  many  points  of  opinion ;  and  in  matters  that  belong  to 
the  life  of  religion,  to  coalesce  so  perfectly !  Your  letter 
shows  me  two  things ;  first,  that  we  are  wider  apart  than  I 
supposed  we  were ;  and,  secondly,  that  we  are  closer  together ; 
for,  though  we  meet  in  so  many  points  of  opinion,  it  is  yet 
only  in  points  ;  and  still  I  see  that  in  the  inmost  life  of  faith 
itself,  back  of  form,  back,  so  to  speak,  of  all  points,  we  are  one. 
And  in  this  very  peculiar  relationship  discovered  between 
us,  I  confess  that  I  have  so  great  pleasure  that  I  am  tempted 
almost  to  cherish  and  keejj  alive  our  disagreements,  that  they 
may  always  be  the  same  evidence  as  now,  that  the  Kingdom 
of  God  is  not  in  word  but  in  power.  And  yet  it  is  so  imj)or- 
tant,  just  now,  that  I  should  be  understood,  that  I  am  tempted, 
on  that  account,  to  run  over  some  of  the  points  in  your  let- 
ter, just  enough  to  let  you  hear  the  echo  to  your  own  voice. 

The  general  stricture  you  pass  on  my  "  too  excessive  com- 


218  LIFE   OF   HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

plexity,"  etc.,  is  one  that  I  pass  on  myself.  It  holds,  I  sus- 
pect, not  of  my  writings  generally,  but  more  of  the  last  two 
discourses,  where,  being  set  between  cross-fires  to  be  raked  on 
both  sides,  I  was  too  anxious,  perhaps,  to  meet  every  thought 
of  everybody.  I  felt  this  especially  in  regard  to  the  discourse 
on  the  atonement.  What  you  say  regarding  the  untheologic 
character  of  my  book,  or  its  value  as  a  "  suggestive  "  instru- 
ment principally,  exactly  meets  my  feeling.  It  is  what  I 
wish  to  hear ;  for  it  is  my  very  theory,  you  know,  that  noth- 
ing more  is  possible  in  the  way  of  theology  than  to  act  sug- 
gestively. I  have  no  doubt  that  some  of  the  orthodox  will 
say, — it  has  been  said  to  me  privately,  as  you  hint, — that, 
protesting  against  logic,  I  have  used  it,  and  that,  easting  out 
dogmas,  I  have  done  it  only  to  set  up  a  dogma  of  my  own. 
But  it  will  be  observed  that  I  have  used  logic  principally 
as  a  negative  and  distinctive  instrument,  and  as  ad  hominem 
to  the  disciples  of  logic.  And  as  to  dogma,  the  point  to 
which  I  have  brought  everything  is  this,  and  this,  in  my 
view,  includes  all  I  have  done,  viz.,  that  God,  in  the  matter 
of  trinity  and  atonement,  is  seen  to  approach  us  or  come  into 
knowledge,  not  under  terms  of  logic  and  notionally,  but  un- 
der the  laws  of  expression.  To  this,  trinity  is  brought  down ; 
to  this,  atonement.  They  meet  us  poetically,  sesthetically,  to 
pour  their  contents  into  us  through  feeling  and  imagination ; 
to  deposit  their  contents,  not  in  our  reason  but  in  our  faith, — 
by  faith  to  be  experimented  or  known  experimentally.  The 
trinity  is  the  algebraic  formula  of  experience.  The  terms 
are  factors  of  feeling  and  experience, — a.b.c.=a?.  If  any  one 
chooses  to  call  my  doctrine  dogma,  and  will  call  every  right 
instrument  of  suggestion,  or  expression,  even  the  last  cry  of 
Jesus,  dogma,  I  have  no  objection. 

It.  is  said,  you  know,  that  when  there  is  an  idiot  child  in  a 
family  it  is  seen  to  be  more  cherished  than  any  other.  Per- 
haps it  is  on  this  principle  that  I  think  the  discourse  least 
approved  by  you  to  be  really  the  most  complete  in  the  argu- 
ment, and  the  most  conclusive  in  the  result,  of  the  three.  I 
wish  I  had  time  or  opportunity  to  sit  down  with  you  and 
talk  over  the  points  in  issue. 


LETTERS.  219 

Marvellous  times  are  these  in  which  we  live!  The  Pope 
flies,  I  hope  not  to  return  ;  and,  at  the  same  time,  it  seems  to 
me  that  a  truer,  more  real,  more  Christian  and  holier  Catho- 
licity is  breathing  softly  into  the  world  from  God.  Only  let 
us  have  our  part  in  this  healing  breath ;  let  it  sweep,  even 
as  a  gale  of  life,  through  our  hearts,  and  fan  away  everything 
but  truth  and  love  within  us. 

Yours  in  Christ  Jesus,  Horace  Bushnell. 

To  the  Same. 

Hartford,  April  11, 1849. 

My  deae  Friend, — jSTo  apology  was  necessary  for  not  go- 
ing into  an  argument  with  me  over  my  long,  prosy  letter.  I 
did  not  mean  to  get  up  a  paper  quarrel.  I  only  felt  anxious 
to  have  you  get  hold  of  me ;  and  as  you  had  given  me  some 
points  of  contact,  I  thought  I  could  gain  something  by  just 
touching  them. 

I  thank  you  for  the  only  too  undeserved  compliment  of 
your  note  in  the  Impdrer,  but  more  for  the  very  beautiful, 
and  in  many  points  convincing,  article  you  sent  me  in  the  Ex- 
aminer. There  are  passages  in  that  article  which  I  should 
like  mightily  to  have  written,  and  the  whole  spirit  of  it  is 
such  as  to  kindle  a  true  Christian  lire  in  my  heart.  If  I 
must  choose  between  it  and  the  common  view  of  orthodoxy, 
I  should  not  long  hesitate. 

And  yet  there  is  a  want  in  it,  a  vital  defect  of  something. 
My  heart  cries.  More,  more  !  It  leaves  God  too  far  ofE,  in- 
terposing, between  me  and  God,  a  creature -being,  whom  I 
want  to  worship  more  than  him,  and  who  really  deserves  my 
worship  more  than  he ;  for  surely  it  was  more  in  him  to  die 
for  me,  a  deeper  love,  than  it  was  for  the  Father  simply  to 
let  him.  Just  here,  I  perceive,  is  going  to  be"  the  difficulty 
as  regards  that  "  reorganization  "  of  which  you  speak.  The 
tendency  of  German  speculations  and  reactions,  you  have 
seen  (as  in  Ullman-s  article  on  the  "Essence  of  Christianity"), 
is  towards  the  "Incarnation,"  the  union  of  the  divine  and  the 
human  in  the  person  of  Jesus,  understanding  that  union  in 
its  hio'hest  sense.     I  am  confident  that  Unitarianism  and  or- 


220  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

thodoxy  can  never  meet  in  any  other  point  than  this ;  partly, 
because  the  miraculous  conception  of  Jesus,  regarding  him 
as  a  creature-being  already  in  esse,  is  too  awkward,  too  virtu- 
ally impossible,  for  belief;  more,  because  the  religious  want 
we  have  on  our  side  is  too  vast  to  be  answered  by  any  means 
of  so  slender  a  quality.  Nay,  your  human  or  creature  Saviour 
is,  in  one  view,  an  offence  to  us,  because  it  justifies  that  frigid 
dictum  of  the  logical  judgment  wiiicli  asserts  that  God  is  too 
far  oflt",  too  essentially  incommunicable,  to  suffer  a  real  union 
with  humanity.  I  read  your  eloquent  article,  thrilled  and 
melted  by  its  presentations,  offended  or  shocked  by  nothing, 
as  I  am  by  some  of  our  orthodox  teachings,  scarcely  dissent- 
ing anywhere,  feeling  that  God's  character  is  everywhere 
justified,  and  that  I  must  offer  myself  to  communion  in  the 
true  brotherhood  of  the  faith.  And  yet,  when  I  had  come 
to  the  end,  said  Amen  to  almost  everything  and  closed  the 
book,  I  w^as  still  obliged  to  say.  Well,  this  is  not  enough ;  it 
does  not  fill  me;  my  Saviour  is  more,  closer,  vaster, — God 
himself  enshrined  in  this  world-history  with  me  to  sanctify 
both  it  and  me,  and  be  in  it  and  me,  the  fulness  of  him  that 
fiUeth  all.  It  is  only  part  of  the  same  general  defect,  that 
you  seem  to  be  more  shy  of  supernaturalism  than  I  could 
wish,  in  the  view  you  take  of  sacrifices,  and  especially  in  your 
view  of  imrdon;  for  I  hope  it  will  some  time  or  other  be 
made  to  appear  that  there  is  a  great  deal  more  of  super- 
naturalism  in  the  management  of  this  world  than  even  or- 
thodoxy has  begun  to  suspect,  —  even  a  systematic,  world- 
ruling,  nature-redeeming  supernaturalism  ;  therefore,  such  as 
may  aspire  to  separate  sins  (in  pardon)  from  the  damnation 
of  mere  nature,  and  the  causative  hell  that  nature  contains  or 
adds  as  a  destiny  to  sin. 

I  want  exceedingly,  my  dear  brother,  to  sit  down  with  you 
and  talk  over  these  great  themes,  so  dear  to  us  both.  I  hope 
we  shall  ere  long  have  that  privilege. 

But  it  is  a  matter  of  unspeakable  comfort  to  me,  just 
now,  that  God  is  at  the  helm,  preparing  his  own  issues,  and 
that  if  the  disciples  of  his  truth  stammer  in  their  words  and 
see  only  confusedly,  he  himself  perfectly  understands  what 


LETTERS.  221 

the  measure  of  his  gospel  is,  and  where  the  lines  are  to  be 
fixed.  .  .  . 

To  the  Rev.  Henry  Goodwin. 

Hartford,  April  13, 1849. 

My  dear  FiiiEND, — I  have  read  jour  article  with  the  great- 
est delight,  with  true  thanksgiving,  I  will  say,  to  God,  that 
there  is  any  one  who  is  prepared,  just  now,  to  stand  forth  and 
say  the  right  thing  for  his  truth.  I  count  much  upon  you 
for  the  future,  and  I  w^ish  you  to  feel  that  God  has  a  work 
for  you  to  do.  If  it  were  not  for  you,  I  should  feel  myself 
to  be  much  alone. 

I  should  like  to  have  you  consider  whether  it  is  not  for 
you,  some  months  hence,  after  my  bulls  of  Bashan  have  over- 
whelmed me  by  their  combined  rush,  to  come  out  in  a  book, 
or  something  of  that  kind,  on  Theological  Method.  Nothing 
is  wanted  now  so  much.  Suppose  you  enter  on  the  subject 
now.  Read  Hampden's  "Bampton  Lectures,"  and  Morell's 
"Philosophy  of  Religion,"  just  out;  collect  your  illustrations 
and  facts.    Digest  all  Church  history, — a  small  job  ! 

Have  you  read  the  long  i-eview  in  The  Princeton  f  You 
have  seen  me  a  pantheist  in  The  Evangelist.  Why  not  an 
atheist  as  well,  with  a  special  incarnation  and  a  plan  of  super- 
natural redemption  ?     This  would  enlighten  the  Germans ! 

Give  my  regards  to  Professor  and  Mrs.  Park,  with  the  hope 
that  he  will  not  be  poisoned  thereby. 

I  have  many  thoughts  about  you,  such  as  that  God  will  call 
you  to  some  work  ere  long  that  is  exactly  adapted  to  you. 
Stand  ready, — i.  e.,  with  a  lamp  lighted  and  trimmed.  Who- 
soever wants  what  is  right  to  be  done,  and  best,  will  assuredly 
have  it. 

Very  affectionately  yours,  Horace  Bushnell. 

Boston,  Weduesdfiy,  May  30, 1849. 

My  dearest  Wife, — I  will  turn  aside  this  morning  for  an 

hour  or  two,  and  have  a  little  talk  with  you.     I  have  a  good 

many  things  to  say,  in  the  way  of  small  talk  and  news,  which 

I  will  reserve  till  1  return,    I  am  looked  at  here  by  the  mass 


222  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

as  a  kind  of  horned  animal,  though  not  by  all.  After  the 
prayer -meeting  yesterday  morning,  Mr.  Blagden,  who  in- 
quired very  particularly  after  you,  took  me  by  the  hand  and 
said  he  wanted  to  see  me.  We  had  a  long  and  very  pleasant 
talk.  Kirk  dined  with  us  yesterday,  and,  by  Blagden's  sug- 
gestion, invited  me  to  an  interview  with  the  editors  of  the 
Ohsei'vatory,  Friday  afternoon,  when  we  shall  have  a  full  talk, 
at  least.  Edward  Beecher  preached  at  me  sub  rosa  before  the 
Pastoral  Association  yesterday,  on  pantheism.  A  new  paper, 
called  the  Congregationalist,  edited  by  Edward  Beecher,  Ha- 
vens, and  Tarbox,  is  out  with  the  first  number,  having  a  com- 
munication from  Baker  full  sail  against  me.  I  meet,  an  hour 
or  two  hence,  with  Havens  and  Tarbox.  I  parted  with  Rog- 
ers just  now,  who  asked  me  to  preach  for  him  on  Sunday 
morning,  which  I  shall  do.  I  think,  on  the  whole,  that  I 
shall  be  able  to  turn  this  tide  a  little  before  I  leave.  I  am 
rejoiced  that  I  came  on  here,  for  it  has  been  very  pleasant 
thus  far.  It  is  a  little  wonderful  to  me  that  I  have  so  great 
indifference  to  the  stare  and  half -horror  with  which  I  am 
looked  upon.  I  thank  God  that  he  enables  me  to  turn  it  all 
so  easily  into  comfort  and  peace ;  for  I  have  a  sense  of  God, 
and  his  love  and  his  approbation,  that  is  wonderfully  sweet- 
ened by  the  bitterness  about  me.  How  blessed  a  thing  it  is 
to  retreat  into  God  from  the  scowls  of  men,  and  hide  in  the 
secret  of  his  pavilion !  I  never  felt  more  true  repose  of  spirit 
than  has  been  granted  me  since  I  came  into  the  midst  of  these 
elements  of  ill-nature  and  disturbance. 

.  .  .  My  pen  won't  write  a  true  mark.  I  hope  that  I  have 
put  a  little  truth  into  the  false  marks.  Give  my  tender  love 
to  the  children. 

Yours  ever,  Hoeace  Bushnell. 

To  Dr.  Bartol. 

Hartford,  July  31, 1849. 
My  dear  Feiend  and  Beothee, — I  have  been  about  writ- 
ing you  many  times  of  late ;  that  is,  I  have  had  thoughts  reach- 
ing after  you  and  asking  liberty  to  go ;  but,  alas !  I  have  too 
much  to  do  that  I  would  not,  to  be  able  to  do  what  I  would, 


LETTERS.  223 

a  condition  very  mncli  resembled  to  sin,  you  perceive.  I  am 
getting  to  be  so  miicli  cast  out,  that  I  sometimes  think  I  shall 
have  to  turn  to  you,  or  in  some  other  direction,  to  escape 
isolation.  However,  I  must  not  say  exactly  this ;  for,  though 
I  am  very  much  out  of  confidence,  I  have  some  friends  who 
stick  to  me,  and  there  is  beginning,  in  fact,  to  be  a  little  token 
of  reaction ;  the  tide  is  turning,  and  with  signs  that  it  will,  by- 
and-by,  become  a  full  tide  the  other  way. 

I  have  never  told  you  that  a  committee  has  been  raised  in 
my  Association  to  report  on  my  book,  which  the  movers  un- 
doubtedly meant  should  end  in  a  trial.  But  they  have  no 
courage  equal  to  their  attempt,  and  are  visibly  looking  round 
to  see  how  they  will  best  get  off  with  a  good  grace  themselves. 
So,  at  least,  I  think. 

Thank  God,  the  day  is  coming  when  Love  will  be  the  big- 
gest and  truest  truth  of  all,  and  the  best  of  all  confessions; 
and  then,  if  we  have  it,  I  think  we  shall  be  orthodox  beyond 
a  question.  The  great  thing  now  is  to  make  something  of 
the  heart,  and  especially  of  union  to  God.  What  is  it, — what 
is  it  ?  A  very  deep  study  !  I  pray  God  we  may  be  success- 
ful in  it,  and  then  we  shall  know  more  about  Christianity  than 
all  the  words-men  of  the  ages  past.  .  .  . 

In  those  troublous  times,  it  was  a  matter  ef  heart-felt  satis- 
faction that  there  were  a  few  friends  who  stood  by  him  faith- 
fully and  manfully.  Of  these,  none  did  abler  or  more  efficient 
service  than  the  Rev.  Amos  S.  Chesebrough,  then  pastor  of 
the  Congregational  Church  in  Chester,  Conn.  In  the  Relig- 
ious Herald  for  July  Tth,  he  published  an  article  over  the 
signature  C.  C,  with  the  heading  "  Do  they  understand  him  ?" 
which  showed  in  the  clearest  manner  that  the  reviewers  of 
Dr.  Bushnell  were  at  odds  among  themselves  in  their  inter- 
pretation of  his  book.  The  inconsistency  of  the  several  criti- 
cisms with  one  another  was  shown  by  the  device  of  arranging 
them  in  opposite  columns,  so  that  at  a  glance  the  eye  could 
take  in  the  discrepancy.  A  second  article,  headed  "  What  is 
orthodoxy  V  demonstrated  by  quotations  that  the  reviewers 
were  as  far  apart  from  one  another  as  they  were  from  Dr. 


224  LIFE  OF  IIOKACE  BUSHNELL. 

Bnslmell.  And  tluis  was  revealed  the  fact  of  more  than  one 
heretic.  Other  articles  followed,  which,  together  with  some 
of  the  same  series  declined  by  the  publisher  of  the  Herald  on 
prudential  grounds,  were,  at  the  request  of  several  prominent 
la^'men,  collected  and  published  in  a  pamphlet,  with  the  title 
"  Contributions  of  C.  C,  now  declared  in  full  as  Criticus  Crit- 
icorura :"  in  that  form  they  were  widely  distributed  shortly 
before  the  meeting  of  the  Association,  which  was  occupied,  as 
we  shall  soon  see,  with  an  examination  of  the  new  book.  Dr. 
Bushnell,  perhaps,  did  not  overrate  the  importance  of  their 
influence  at  that  critical  time,  when  he  said,  in  his  emphatic 
way,  that  "  they  saved  his  head."  There  was  much  of  quiet 
wit  in  their  very  method,  together  with  a  pleasant  freedom 
from  controversial  fluster ;  while  the  critical  work  was  j)er- 
fornied  in  so  clear  and  just  a  manner,  and  in  a  spirit  so  ad- 
mirable and  yet  positive,  that  no  one  groping  in  the  mists  of 
dogmatic  theology  could  read  them  without  feeling  the  at- 
mosphere cleared  and  lightened. 

We  are  glad,  also,  to  recall,  in  this  connection,  that  the  Rev. 
Henry  Goodwin,  a  member  of  Dr.  BushnelFs  church,  and  at 
that  time  a  licentiate  in  the  ministry,  entered  earnestly  into 
the  discussion,  and  wrote  for  the  weekly  papers  several  vigor- 
ous articles  in  defence  of  his  pastor.  These  articles  were  the 
first  indications  of  a  literary  ability  afterwards  shown  to  be 
of  a  high  order. 

To  the  Rev.  A.  S.  Cheselroiigh. 

Hartford,  August  29, 1849. 

Dear  Brother  C, — I  write  you  a  hasty  note  from  the 
book- store,  as  it  rains  too  hard  to  go  home  for  it.  I  am 
glad  to  see  you  at  work,  especially  as  you  work  in  the  right 
manner.  The  theme  on  which  you  are  now  engaged  is  the 
theme  of  all  others ;  and  I  am  sure  if  you  are  able  to  open  it 
but  a  little  way,  which  is  about  all  any  of  us  can  do,  it  will 
repay  your  neuralgia  with  interest.  I  ask  no  repayment  for 
the  long  trials  of  patience  and  the  hard  struggles  of  work  I 
have  encountered  in  the  discussion  of  this  theme.     It  is  all 


MEETINGS   OF  THE   ASSOCIATION.  225 

life,  eternal  Life.  If  there  be  anything  that  will  spread  the 
liorizon  of  the  mind,  or  rather  quite  take  it  away,- it  is  this. 

I  have  no  thought  of  publishing  just  now.  But  I  want 
very  much  to  have  you  go  on  and  publish.  You  need  have 
no  hesitation,  after  you  get  your  matter  ready.  You  will  do 
good,  and  things  are  just  now  turning  so  as  to  give  you  as 
much  effect  as  possible. 

Dr.  Beecher  came  to  me  in  a  most  fatherly  w\ay,  the  other 
day,  and  after  a  full  talk  the  old  man  was  perfectly  satisfied 
of  my  soundness  (apart  from  speculative  theory),  rejoiced 
with  tears  at  the  discovery,  went  directly  over  to  Farmington 
and  saw  Dr.  Porter ;  and  the  substance  of  the  report  of  the 
committee,  i.  <?.,  of  the  majority,  was  arranged,  giving  me  a 
hearty  clearance.  Whether  the  minority  will  offer  a  counter- 
report,  after  the  meeting  of  the  whole  committee  with  me  the 
next  week,  I  do  not  know. 

Don't  work  too  hard,  nor  be  in  any  such  haste  as  to  do 
yourself  any  injustice.  I  feel  assured  that  we  have  some 
good  things  to  give  the  world,  and  they  will  take  them  when 
their  hearts  are  opened  of  the  Lord  to  attend.  .  .  . 

From  the  Religious  Herald  of  October  27, 1849,  we  extract 
the  following  report  of  the  meetings  of  the  Association, 
whose  object  was  to  present  Dr.  Bushnell  for  trial : — 

"At  the  annual  meeting  of  the  Hartford  Central  Association  in  June 
last,  at  East  Avon,  the  subject  of  Dr.  B.'s  book  was  placed  on  the 
docket  of  business.  Serious  charges  of  fundamental  errors  having  been 
made  in  various  influential  and  intelligent  quarters,  it  was  thought  prop- 
er that  an  official  investigation  should  take  place,  in  order  tliat  a  subse- 
quent trial  might  be  had  before  the  Consociation,  if  it  should  appear  that 
Dr.  B.  was  presentable  on  a  charge  of  heresy ;  or  that  a  shield  might 
be  interposed  between  him  and  his  assailants,  if  it  should  be  manifest 
that  he  had  been  misunderstood.  A  committee,  consisting  of  Rev.  Drs. 
Porter  and  Hawes,  and  Rev.  Messrs.  Clarke,  Richardson,  and  McLean,  was 
appointed  to  report  on  this  subject  at  a  subsequent  special  meeting. 
This  committee  submitted  to  the  Association,  at  a  meeting  held  at  Un- 
ionville  in  September,  two  reports.  The  majority  (Porter,  Richardson, 
and  McLean)  reported  that  the  errors  of  the  book  were  not  fundamental ; 
the  minority  (Hawes  and  Clarke)  reported  that  the  errors  were  funda- 


226  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

mental.  Much  discussion  was  had,  and  the  Association  adjourned  to  the 
present  week,  to  meet  at  Rev.  Mr.  Patton's  house  in  Hartford.  They  met 
accordingly,  and  heard  a  very  able  and  protracted  written  defence  from 
Dr.  Bushuell,  after  which  the  members  expressed  their  views  in  turn, 
and  the  majority  report  was  finally  adopted,  with  but  three  dissenting 


Many  M'ho  voted  in  the  affirmative  did  not  a2:ree  with 
Dr.  Bushuell.  They  regretted  liis  utterances.  But  they 
found  no  fundamental  error  in  him,  and  therefore  they 
kept  room  for  him.  His  admitted  variations  of  the  historic 
faith  might  occasion  individual  regret,  but  did  not  deserve 
public  jDrosecution.  That  was  the  deliberate  decision  of  the 
Association,  made  and  emphasized  by  a  vote  of  seventeen  to 
three. 

The  action  of  the  Hartford  Central  Association  was  vari- 
ously commented  upon  by  the  religious  press.  The  Indepen- 
dent approved  the  course  taken,  for  the  reason  that  "  nothing 
tends  so  much  to  exasperate  religious  or  theological  discus- 
sions, and  to  make  them  not  only  useless  but  mischievous,  as 
the  disposition  to  pronounce  every  error  fundamental."  The 
Presbyterian^  under  the  heading,  "A  Sad  Sign,"  mournfully 
condemned  the  action  of  the  body.  The  Puritan  Recorder 
spoke  its  opinion  thus : — 

"  On  the  whole,  it  now  strikes  us  that  the  adoption  of  that  majority 
report  was  about  all  that  could  have  been  looked  for  under  the  circum- 
stances. Dr.  B.  is  surrounded  in  his  Association  by  warm  personal 
friends,  who,  though  ever  so  sound  and  strong  in  the  faith  themselves, 
will  hardly  be  persuaded  that  he  can  go  far  out  of  his  way.  Moreover, 
his  reputation  as  a  man  of  genius  procures  him  great  indulgence  in  his 
eccentric  flights  and  aberrations.  He  has  become  a  sort  of  '  chartered 
libertine,'  and  has  acquired  a  right  to  do  as  he  likes  with  impunity.  He 
may  safely  steal  a  horse  from  the  pasture,  where  another  man  would  have 
been  hanged  only  for  looking  over  the  hedge.  He  is  also  much  jjro- 
tected  by  the  nebulosity  of  his  ideas  on  the  subject  of  language^  enabling 
him,  as  he  boasts  in  his  recent  book,  to  sign  all  the  creeds  he  ever  saw. 
Such  a  man  can  be  held  to  no  human  accountability  for  anything  he  may 
choose  to  write.  No  man  can  tell  what  he  means,  or  whether,  in  any 
respects,  he  is  orthodox,  or  whatever  else  he  is.  The  attempt  to  ascer- 
tain his  opinions  is  like  trying  to  pin  a  brilliant  jack-o'-lantern  to  the 
wall,  or  to  tie  up  a  rainbow  into  a  true-lover's  knot.'' 


LETTERS.  227 

To  Dr.  Bartol. 

Hartford,  October  24, 1849. 
My  deae  Friend  and  Brother, — It  is  getting  to  be  a  long 
time  since  I  have  heard  from  yon,  and  I  believe  the  fault  is 
mine.  I  have  been  exceedingly  busy  this  summer,  in  pre- 
paring to  meet  a  charge  of  heresy;  virtually  speaking,  I 
have  been  under  such  a  charge.  The  question  has  been  with 
a  ministerial  Association  here,  whether  they  should  present 
me  (which  is  our  scheme  of  discipline)  to  Consociation  for 
trial.  It  lias  been  a  long  and  sore  job.  The  formal  result 
you  will  see  in  the  papers  ;  for  yesterday  the  matter  came 
to  a  full  end,  the  conclusion  being,  wuth  only  two  or  three 
dissenting  voices,  that,  though  I  am  a  frightful  being,  I  am 
nevertheless  substantially  orthodox.  My  point,  therefore,  is 
now  carried,  and  my  standing  fixed ;  so  that  I  can  stay  in 
orthodoxy  and  shake  hands  across  the  line,  very  gently,  of 
course,  though  I  hope  to  be  able  to  make  greater  advances 
gradually  without  offence.  Advances,  I  mean,  not  in  opinion, 
for  I  see  no  ground  of  expectation  that  I  shall  ever  be  any 
closer  in  opinion  than  I  have  been,  but  advances  in  a  social 
way,  and  in  mutual  recognitions.  I  have  never  suffered  any 
check  to  my  freedom  in  opinion  ;  I  have  gone  directly  out  to 
my  results;  and  if  I  had  all  license  I  would  not  go  an  inch 
farther,— never  shall  go  till  I  get  a  new  stock  of  convictions. 
Meantime,  I  do  fervently  hope  and  pray,  that  what  I  should 
call  a  deeper  evangelic  spirit  may  get  hold  of  my  Unitarian 
friends.  I  think  I  see  that  it  is  getting  hold  of  them,  or 
they  of  it.  The  late  meeting  at  Portland  was  a  good  sign ; 
but  the  fact  is  that  the  language  held  there,  even  the  best 
of  it,  seems  to  want  a  certain  depth  or  unction  ;  the  thoughts 
do  not  touch  bottom :  they  seemed  to  me  as  if  they  were  not 
in  the  vernacular  of  evangelism.  But  the  draught,  thank 
God,  is  in  the  right  direction.  I  wish  you  could,  all  of  you 
(I  include  yourself  here,  for  at  just  this  point  I  am  most  con- 
scious of  a  Christian  difference  with  you),  enter  into  a  more 
thorough,  out-and-out  conviction  of  the  fall  of  man.  You  ac- 
knowledge sin,  but  not  a  fall.     You  seem  to  me  to  be  shyer 


228  LIFE  OF  HORACE   BUSHNELL. 

here  tlian  you  need  be,  lest  you  get  into  the  old  orthodox 
notion  of  a  total  depravity,  and  of  being  damned  for  what 
God  made  us  to  be.  But  there  is  room  enough  for  a  bond- 
state  of  evil,  a  fall,  a  need  of  supernatural  redemption  or  re- 
generation, without  descending  into  any  such  folly.  Then, 
having  found  a  truth  in  the  seventh  chapter  of  Romans,  the 
true  meaning  of  the  eighth  will  follow.  And  then  the  words 
of  Christian  truth  and  experience  will  have  the  true  smack, 
— don't  say  the  cantish  sound,  but  the  apostolic.  Excuse  this 
freedom,  for  I  mean  always  to  have  it  with  you,  and  I  wish 
you  to  be  as  free.  This  is  half  the  joy  I  have  in  your  ac- 
quaintance. 

I  have  written  to  the  amount  of  another  volume  this  sum- 
mer for  the  trial  I  have  been  passing  or  averting.  Perhaps 
I  may  publish  it.  If  I  do,  I  think  it  will  give  me  a  more 
adequate  understanding,  if  nothing  more. 

I  wish  I  could  sit  down  with  you  now  and  talk  a  couple  of 
days.  Come  on,  let  me  ask  of  you  again,  bring  your  wife, 
and  make  us  a  visit. 

Yours  ever,  H.  Bushnell. 

To  the  Rev.  A.  S.  Chesebrough. 

Hartford,  November  5, 1849. 

My  dear  Feiend, — I  thank  you  for  your  congratulations, 
and  I  think  I  may  return  them  by  others  quite  as  hearty.  I 
have  been  in  New  York  for  the  week  past,  and  have  had  a 
thousand  inquiries  who  C.  C.  is.  I  am  yet  to  hear  anything 
said  of  him  but  good. 

Bacon  says  there  are  parts  in  his  "Contributions*'  worthy 
of  Pascal ;  Bellows  of  New  York,  that  he  has  perfectly  annihi- 
lated all  my  antagonists  at  a  blow,  or,  rather,  made  them  do 
it  themselves,  in  the  manner  of  the  theologians  of  Kilkenny. 

Let  me  hear  from  you  as  often  as  you  will.  Don't  think 
how  much  better  you  could  have  done.  I  very  much  doubt 
if  what  you  have  done  is  not  better  than  to  effect  all  you  in- 
tended. 

Very  truly  yours,  Horace  Bushnell. 


TRIBUTE  TO   THE   PURITAN  FATHERS.  229 

In  the  midst  of  this  struggle,  it  is  a  real  inspiration  to  find 
that  his  own  life  was  not  all  to  him, — that  he  could  live  great- 
ly in  the  heroic  struggles  of  others,  all  the  more  greatly  that 
lie  had  learned  wdiat  struggle  means.  His  oration  on  "  The 
Founders  Great  in  their  Unconsciousness,"  given  before  the 
New  England  Society  of  New  York  on  Forefathers'  Day, 
December  21, 1849,  is  a  noble  illustration  of  this.  His  filial 
sentiment  of  obligation  to  the  Puritan  fathers  of  New  Eng- 
land flowered  here  in  a  lofty  tribute,  worthy  of  the  subject : — 

"  They  came  not,"  he  says,  "  with  any  conscious  or  designing  agency 
in  those  great  political  and  social  issues  which  we  now  look  ujoon  as 
the  crowning  distinctions  of  our  history.  Their  ideal  was  not  in  these. 
Sometimes  we  smile  at  their  simplicity,  finding  that  the  highest  hope 
they  conceived  was  nothing  but  the  hope  of  some  good  issue  for  relig- 
ion. We  wonder  that  they  could  not  have  had  some  conception  of  the 
magnificent  results  of  liberty  and  social  order  here  to  be  revealed.  We 
want  them  to  be  heroes,  but  we  cannot  allow  them  to  be  heroes  of  fiuth. 
But  it  will  some  time  be  discovered  that,  in  actual  life,  there  are  two 
kinds  of  heroes — heroes  for  the  visible  and  heroes  for  the  invisible  ;  they 
that  see  their  mark  hung  out  as  a  flag  to  be  taken  on  some  turret  or 
battlement,  and  they  that  see  it  nowhere  save  in  the  grand  ideal  of  the 
inward  life :  extempore  heroes  fighting  out  a  victory  definitely  seen  in 
something  near  at  hand ;  and  the  life-long,  century-long  heroes  that  are 
instigated  by  no  ephemeral  crown  or  more  ephemeral  passion,  but  have 
sounded  the  deep  base-work  of  God's  principle  and  have  dared  calmly 
to  rest  their  all  upon  it,  come  the  issue  where  it  may,  or  when  it  may, 
or  in  what  form  God  will  give  it.  The  former  class  are  only  symbols,  I 
conceive,  in  the  visible  life,  of  that  more  heroic  and  truly  divine  great- 
ness in  the  other,  which  is  never  offered  to  the  eyes  in  forms  of  palpable 
achievement.  .  .  .  Coming  in  simple  duty,  duty  was  their  power — a  divine 
fate  in  them,  whose  thrusting  on  to  greatness  and  triumphant  good  took 
away  all  questions  from  the  feeble  arbitrament  of  their  will,  and  made 
them  even  impassilile  to  their  burdens.  And  they  went  on  building 
their  unknown  future,  all  the  more  resolutely  because  it  was  unknown ; 
for,  though  unknown,  it  was  present  in  its  power,  —  present,  not  as  in 
their  projects  and  wise  theories,  but  as  a  latent  heat,  concealed  in  their 
principles,  and  works,  and  prayers,  and  secret  love,  to  be  given  out  and 
become  palpable  in  the  world's  cooling,  ages  after." 

The  whole  address,  of  wliicli  this  paragraph  strikes  the  key- 
note, is  in  the  highest  degree  indicative  of  his  own  life  and 
experience.      Through  its   elevated  thought,  and  chastened 


230  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

but  still  brilliant  language,  breathes  that  spirit  of  heroic  trust 
in  which  he  was  to  pass  through  all  his  years  of  conflict. 

To  Dr.  Bartol. 

Hartford,  January  23, 1850. 
My  dear  Friend  and  Brother, — I  have  been  waiting  a 
long  while  to  get  an  hour  or  two  of  time,  besides  stolen  time, 
to  write  you ;  and  yet  I  find,  like  Agur,  or  as  Agur  feared, 
that,  being  poor,  I  am  obliged  to  steaL  I  was  never  so 
crowded  with  labor  as  I  have  been  this  winter.  Is  it  not 
commonly  one  of  the  miseries  of  growing  old,  that  one  is  in 
greater  danger  every  day  of  being  buried  alive, — that  is,  in 
businesses  and  responsibilities  ? 

I  have  read  the  greater  part  of  your  volume  of  "Dis- 
courses ;"  and  I  count  it  one  of  the  best  evidences  that  you 
have  done  w^ell,  that  you  have  compelled  my  eyes  to  read 
so  admiringly,  when  I  have  w^anted  the  freedom  or  freshness 
of  feeling  necessary  to  follow  and  fully  to  enjoy  my  eyes. 

You  have  certainly  done  well.  The  volume  will  take  a 
high  place.  It  evinces  a  great  deal  more  of  what  I  should 
call  genius  than  the  sermons  of  Dr.  Channing ;  though,  lest 
you  should  think  I  mean  to  flatter  you,  I  will  add  that  I  do 
not  place  the  writings  of  Dr.  Channing  as  high  in  the  scale 
of  intellectual  merit  as  his  Boston  friends  and  admirers  are 
wont  to  do.  I  M'ill  qualify,  again,  by  saying  that  if  there  is 
more  of  poetic  life  in  your  sermons,  a  higher  range  of  in- 
tellectual perception,  and  a  greater  fertility  of  thought,  his 
may  yet,  for  other  reasons,  partly  adventitious,  obtain  a  much 
stronger  hold  of  the  public  mind.  It  is  even  one  of  the 
faults  of  your  sermons  that  they  too  constantly  luxuriate  in 
beauty.  They  have  so  much  delicacy  of  conception  that 
they  sometimes  appear  to  belong  to  a  kind  of  preaching  that 
requires  perfect  men  to  hear  it. 

While  there  is  so  much,  also,  to  move  the  feeling  of  beauty, 
and  oftentimes,  connected  with  it,  such  a  show  of  plainness, 
directness,  or  pungency,  I  want  to  blame  you  again,  in  the 
face  of  your  whole  Boston  public  of  taste  and  criticism,  for 
reducing  all  your  sermons  to  the  essay  plan.    It  is  well  enough 


LETTERS.  231 

to  do  it  sometimes ;  but,  in  general,  it  is  the  most  inefficient 
mode  of  sermonizing  that  can  be  invented.  I  was  inclined 
that  way  for  some  years,  and  became  virtually  naturalized  in 
it ;  but,  as  a  matter  of  deliberate  judgment,  I  gave  it  up, — 
that  is,  as  a  rule.  Abating  this,  and  the  over-rich,  or  over- 
delicate,  or  too  constantly  exquisite  style  of  your  sermons, 
they  are  as  good  for  the  manner  as  the  most  exacting  could 
ask.  Better  still,  their  principal  fault  is  that  they  are  too 
good. 

As  to  matter,  why,  they  are  not  orthodox,  and  therefore  I 
cannot  away  with  the  doctrine !     Seriously,  I  am  more  im- 
pressed with  the  difference  between  our  views,  on  reading 
your  sermons,  than  I  expected  to  be.     We  do  not  really  start 
from  the  same  point.     You  are  too  generally  naturalistic  in 
your  views  to  meet  my  feeling,  and  yet  you  sometimes  seem 
to  come  over  almost  to  the  position  of  supernaturalism,  where 
I  want  to  stand.     Your  sermon  on  "Human  Nature"  reveals 
the  chasm  in  its  broadest  part.     I  think  the  argument  is  col- 
ored, ingeniously,  beautifully  colored,  but  colored.     It  does 
not  carry  conviction  with  me.    And  Christianity,  as  a  scheme 
of  life  for  man,  it  seems  very  clear  to  me,  does  not  start  from 
such  a  view  of  the  race.     I  think,  too,  that  human  conscious- 
ness will  not  respond  to  it.     Your  scheme  of  virtue,  as  im- 
plied in  the  argument,  I  must  quarrel  with.    It  does  not  rec- 
ognize the  great  Scripture  law,  that  he  who  is  guilty  in  one 
point  is  guilty  of  all ;  that  is,  that  when  a  creature  descends 
into  evil,  it  is  not  by  some  casual  dip  or  slip,  but  that  the 
great  one  principle  of  good  has  to  go  out  as  a  principle.    We 
do  not  sin  by  homeopathic  doses  or  quantities ;  no  one  sin  is 
done  under  the  principle  of  obedience ;  the  principle  itself 
must  go,  and  that  is  a  fall,  a  disability,  a  state  of  unnature 
and  bondage.     At  this  point  Christianity  finds-  us,  and  from 
this  raises  us  by  a  supernatural  lift.     And  now,  being  in  the 
hands  of  a  supernatural  power  or  grace,  we  are  held  up,  and 
we  walk  by  faith  in  a  mixed  life,  in  spite  of  the  great  law 
just  named,  for  which  God  is  perfecting  the  principle  of  obe- 
dience in  us,  and  we  are  in  him  by  faith.    We  are  not  swamp- 
ed by  our  every  aberration.     Our  aberrations  are  slips  of  in- 

16 


232  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

firmity,  not  choices;  and  while  we  slip  in  this  manner,  God  is 
upholding  us  in  a  level  above  our  infirmity,  and  perfecting 
lis  gradually  in  the  habit  of  good.  This,  if  you  get  hold  of 
it,  is  the  conception  I  hold  of  Christianity.  It  is  strictly  a 
scheme  of  salvation.  It  is  for  mankind  as  a  lost  race,  not  as 
for  a  race  that  wants  to  be  amended  or  patched,  but  new-cre- 
ated in  the  one  principle  of  good.  There  is  the  point  where 
I  do  not  feel  satisfied  with  your  discourses,  and  the  point  of 
disagreement  is  one  that  appears  in  some  shape,  of  course,  at 
every  turn ;  almost  every  page  has  some  form  of  expression 
colored  by  it.  I  say  this  in  the  frankness  of  a  friend  and  a 
Christian,  knowing  that  you  will  thank  me  for  it,  and  take 
it  as  the  truest  expression  of  confidence.  Perhaps  the  differ- 
ence is  one  of  degree  more  than  of  radical  repugnance.  I 
hope  it  is,  for  we  seem  at  times  to  be  almost  together.  I 
wish  I  could  sit  down  with  you  now,  since  reading  j^our 
discourses,  and  go  over  this  great  field  in  the  freedom  of  one 
of  our  old  conversations.     Perhaps  I  should  be  converted. 

I  had  a  delightful  visit,  the  other  day,  from  our  common 
friend  and  brother,  Mr.  Bellows.  It  always  does  me  good, 
over  and  above  the  pleasure,  to  sit  down  and  talk  with  him. 
He  is  so  ingenuous,  so  unrestricted,  that  he  carries  an  atmos- 
phere seldom  breathed  in  the  society  of  "  Human  Nature." 

It  is  proper  to  say  that  these  frank  but  affectionate  criti- 
cisms of  Dr.  Bartol's  writings  are  published  with  his  hearty 
and  very  generous  consent. 

To  the  Rev.  A.  S.  Chesebrough. 

Hartford,  February  4, 1850. 
My  deak  Friend, — I  have  been  w^riting  to  you  for  a  long 
time,  just  as  I  have  been  doing  other  things  not  yet  done.  I 
think  I  grow  more  encumbered  as  life  advances,  and  not  less. 
My  New  York  speech,  a  lecture  for  Providence,  my  book  not 
yet  prepared,  and  a  very  interesting  time,  speaking  of  what 
it  promises,  among  my  people,  give  me  work  enough  for  three 
or  four  souls,  if  I  had  them.  ...  I  shall  be  able,  it  is  quite 
clear  to  me,  to  carry  my  points,  that  is,  all  that  I  care  to  car- 


LETTER.  233 

ry.  I  do  not  wish  to  get  my  dogmas  substituted  for  others, 
but  all  cleared  away,  or,  at  least,  softened  enough  to  allow  the 
liberty  of  the  Spirit. 

I  continue  to  hear  C.  C.  well  spoken  of .  .  .  .  Pardon  me, 
God  pardon  me,  I  should  say,  if  I  am  becoming  your  tempter 
to  unsettle  you  in  your  devotion  to  your  work,  or  filling  your 
head  with  notions  of  place.  ...  I  would  not  have  you  in  a 
hurry.  God's  time  is  certainly  best  for  everything.  So  I 
have  found  it,  and  I  love  to  rest  just  there.  After  all,  place 
does  not  make  the  man.  It  sometimes  facilitates  or  speeds 
the  movement  of  his  success,  but  is  like  to  make  it  as  much 
more  superficial  as  it  has  more  of  celerity.  If  we  wait  upon 
God  and  become  ministers  of  God,  demonstrations  of  him, 
vehicula  Dei  in  our  person,  so  filled  with  the  Spirit  by  our 
nearness  and  the  purity  of  our  devotions  that  he  shines 
through  us,  that  is  the  highest  standing  of  power  we  can 
get.    In  that,  as  in  everything,  with  true  affection, 

H.  BUSHNELL. 


234  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

1850-1851. 

"FAIRFIELD  WEST."— MEETING  OF  THE  GENERAL  ASSOCIATION 
AT  LITCHFIELD.— REMINISCENCES  OF  DR.  BUSHNELL'S  BEAR- 
ING THERE.  — FISHING  EXCURSIONS.  —  INTERVIEW  WITH  AN 
OPPONENT.  — LETTER  FROM  DR.  PORTER. —FAIRFIELD  WEST 
AGAIN.— "CHRIST  IN  THEOLOGY."— DR.  BACON  QUOTED.— LET- 
TERS.—LITCHFIELD  ADDRESS  AND  SPEECH  FOR  CONNECTI- 
CUT.  — A  JOURNEY.— LETTERS.— EXCLUSION  FROM  INTER- 
COURSE WITH  BROTHER  MINISTERS.— DR.  HAWSES.- DR.  BUSH- 
NELL'S  MANNERS  IN  CONTROVERSY. 

In  January,  1850,  the  Association  of  "  Fairfield  West,"  a 
ministerial  body  in  the  western  part  of  the  State,  presented 
a  "  Remonstrance  and  Complaint  to  the  Hartford  Central  As- 
sociation" upon  their  action  in  the  case  of  Dr.  Bushnell. 
"Various  considerations,"  they  said,  "have  caused  us  to  fear 
lest  the  doctrines  of  that  book  ["  God  in  Christ "]  may  be 
already  gaining  a  dangerous  ascendency,  especially  over  the 
minds  of  the  young,  and  preparing  the  way  for  a  wide- 
spread error,  captivating  to  the  carnal  mind,  but  destructive 
of  the  faith,  and  ruinous  to  the  souls  of  men." 

The  Hartford  Association  delayed  their  reply  until  March, 
and  then  merely  reiterated  their  former  statements  concern- 
ing the  book,  and  declined  to  present  Dr.  Bushnell  for  trial. 
Failing  here,  "  Fairfield  West "  next  brought  the  case  before 
the  General  Association  of  Connecticut,  meeting  at  Litchfield, 
in  June,  1850.  Just  before  this  meeting,  Dr.  Bushnell  wrote 
to  the  Rev.  Henry  Goodwin :— "  I  am  a  delegate  to  Litchfield, 
but  I  am  inclined  to  take  the  ground  of  saying  nothing,  and 
let  the  storm  burst  itself.  The  fury  is  certainly  something 
quite  considerable.  I  don't  know  but  they  will  be  able,  in 
the  issue,  to  carry  something  decisive  against  me,  for  it  is 
plain  that  the  end  is  not  yet.  ...  I  thank  God  that  associa- 


ASSOCIATION-MEETING  AT  LITCHFIELD.  235 

tions  of  ministers,  tlioiigli  very  good  people,  doubtless,  do  not 
preside  over  the  world,  and  will  not  sit  as  assessors  at  the 
judgment  thereof." 

At  Litchfield,  then,  the  first  concerted  attack  was  made. 
"  Fairfield  West "  were  in  the  front,  but  stronger  and  more 
influential  forces  were  arrayed  behind  them.  The  defeated 
minority  of  the  Hartford  Central  Association  had  not  been 
idle;  the  hitherto  privately  active  hostility  of  the  Seminary 
at  East  Windsor  was  now  openly  avowed,  and  the  suspicion 
of  a  dangerous  tendency  in  his  writings,  long  smouldering  in 
the  Theological  School  at  New  Haven,  had  been  fanned  into 
flame  by  influences  from  within  and  from  without.  The 
Memorial  from  "Fairfield  West"  was  referred  to  a  com- 
mittee of  thirteen,  comprising  a  number  of  men  who  had 
been  active  in  preparing  the  attack.  Their  chairman,  when 
offering  their  lengthy  Keport  upon  the  Memorial,  announced 
that  this  paper  had  been  prepared  at  New  Haven,  several 
days  previous  to  the  meeting,  in  conference  with  several  of 
the  most  prominent  men  of  the  Seminary  and  College.  An 
argument  or  decision  emanating  from  such  a  source  might 
reasonably  be  expected  to  carry  great  weight  in  Connecticut. 
The  gist  of  the  paper  is  contained  in  its  first  section,  which 
reads  thus : — 

"We  regard  it  as  the  right  of  any  of  our  district  associations  to  re- 
monstrate with  any  other  association  in  respect  to  any  proceedings 
which  are  thought  to  involve  the  faith  and  purity  of  our  churches,  or  to 
bring  reproach  upon  the  associated  clergy  of  the  State. 

"  We  regard  it  as  the  duty  of  any  association  receiving  such  a  remon- 
strance, to  reconsider  the  case  in  question  ;  and  if  they  do  not  see  reason 
to  bring  charges  themselves,  to  afford  an  opportunity  for  any  person  iclio 
may  desire  it,  to  bring  up  the  case  for  judicial  investigation;  and  we  con- 
sider these  principles  as  applying  to  the  case  of  Dr.  Bushnell." 

This  resolution  became  the  subject  of  a  long  and  warm  dis- 
cussion which  lasted  for  nearly  two  days,  and  in  the  course 
of  which  it  became  evident  that  no  such  proposition  could 
command  the  support  of  even  a  large  minority.  Dr.  Bush- 
nell, as  a  delegate  from  his  own  Association,  spoke  ably  on 
the  points  of  order  and  law  involved.     After  tracing  the 


236  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

course  of  procedure  in  the  case  before  the  Hartford  Central 
Association,  and  recalling  their  decision,  he  said : — 

"  Now,  tben,  I  claim  that  their  action  is  final.  The  article  of  discipline, 
which  I  have  quoted,  intends  to  make  negative  decision  in  such  a  case 
final,  though  a  positive  one  would  be  only  introductory  to  future  pro- 
ceedings. Their  action  is  analogous  to  that  of  a  grand -jury.  If  the 
grand-jury  say  there  is  no  ground  for  putting  one  charged  with  crime  on 
trial,  there  the  matter  ends.  If  they  say  there  is  ground  for  trial,  the 
case  goes  on  for  investigation  and  decision  before  the  proper  tribunal. 
If  the  deliberate  decision  of  an  association  like  this  is  not  the  final  dis- 
posal of  the  case,  then  you  have  persecution  instead  of  judgment.  Our 
civil  tribunals  know  better  than  to  tolerate  such  a  course ;  and  shall  not 
a  body  of  ministers  show  as  much  mercy  and  forbearance  as  is  manifest- 
ed in  civil  matters?  But,  on  the  higher  ground  of  right  and  justice,  I  in- 
sist that  there  must  be  an  end.  You  have  no  right  to  repeat  to  an  un- 
limited extent  the  agitation  of  such  matters." 

[Then,  towards  the  close  of  his  speech,  falling  into  a  ten- 
derer and  more  persuasive  tone,  he  said,  and  we  can  imagine 
with  what  earnestness : — '] 

"  I  wish  very  much  that,  instead  of  spending  your  strength  on  so  poor 
a  subject  as  myself,  you  would  set  yourselves  at  work  to  change  this 
body  from  one  of  ruere  debate  into  one  which  should  be  promotive  of  a 
higher  spirituality,  and  lead  us  forward  in  the  love  of  God.  I  have  been 
a  member  of  this  body  now  three  times,  and  little  to  my  satisfaction. 
Most  of  what  we  have  done  has  seemed  to  me  to  be  mere  trifling,  rather 
than  what  is  calculated  to  point  us  to  God.  If  our  fathers  and  brethren, 
whom  I  greatly  respect,  and  who,  I  fear,  are  distressed  more  than  is  nec- 
essary, would  lead  us  on  in  the  way  I  have  indicated,  it  seems  to  me  it 
would  be  for  our  good.  They  fear  that  I  am  about  to  grow  out  a  pair 
of  horns  or  become  a  Unitarian.  Let  me  say,  for  your  comfort,  that  I 
have  not  the  slightest  tendency  that  way.  I  hold  the  fall  and  depravity 
of  man  with  a  deeper  meaning,  probably,  than  most  of  you,  and  believe 
as  much  the  absolute  necessity  of  his  renewal  by  the  Holy  Spirit.  The 
Atonement  and  the  Trinity  are  as  dear  to  me  as  they  are  to  any.  It  is 
easy  to  learn  the  art  of  ecclesiastical  war  and  to  find  heresies  to  contend 
with,  but  it  is  a  much  greater  thing  to  be  filled  with  the  Spirit,  and  to 
grow  into  fellowship  witli  God." 

A  bearing  so  full  of  confidence,  yet  so  free  from  personal 
excitement,  and  withal,  so  firm  and  patient,  had,  perhaps, 
more  power  to  calm  the  excitement  than  a  discovery  of  com- 
plete orthodoxy  would  have  yielded.     At  all  events,  though 


DR.  BUSHNELL'S  BEARING.  237 

the  discussion  still  went  on,  and  trivial  discourtesies  were  at 
times  indulged  in,  yet  the  feeling  of  the  assembly  grew  hour- 
ly more  forbearing  and  friendly,  until  at  last  the  amend- 
ment to  the  original  resolution,  passed  by  unanimous  consent, 
was  one  offered  by  Dr.  Bushnell  himself.  In  the  amended 
resolution  it  was — 

"  Voted^  That  we  regard  it  as  the  duty  of  any  association  receiving  such 
a  remonstrance  to  reconsider  the  case  in  question,  and,  if  they  do  not 
reverse  their  former  action,  to  use  their  best  endeavors  to  satisfy  the  com- 
plaining association  in  respect  to  their  proceedings  so  complained  of." 

So  closed  a  meeting  memorable  in  the  ecclesiastical  history 
of  Connecticut.  Of  its  general  tenor,  a  ministerial  brother 
who  was  present  writes : — "  I  remember  well  the  intense  ear- 
nestness of  the  members  from  '  Fairfield  "West '  to  bring  the 
utmost  ecclesiastical  pressure  to  bear  on  Dr.  Bushnell,  I  also 
remember  the  calm  and  steady  refusal  of  the  body  to  do  this. 
The  discussion  was  heated  and  long,  able  too,  I  think,  on  each 
side.  Of  Dr.  Bushnell's  bearing  and  spirit,  I  can  only  recall 
the  general  impression  that  he  showed  a  calm,  dignified,  Chris- 
tian spirit,  and  wonderfully  maintained  his  self-poise,  consid- 
ering the  violence,  or,  at  least,  the  determined  character,  of 
the  assault  upon  him,  and  how  much  was  at  stake.  This,  I 
think,  helped  him  with  the  body;  and  I  also  think  history 
has  vindicated  the  wisdom  of  its  action  in  refusing  to'  do  any- 
thino;  ag-ainst  him." 

Another  old  friend  says : — "  I  cannot  recall  mucli  that  was 
said  at  the  Litchfield  meeting.  I  only  remember  the  excite- 
ment produced.  Dr.  Bushnell  bore  it  patiently  and  cheerful- 
ly ;  but  there  were  times  when  he  appeared  depressed,  and 
keenly  felt  the  want  of  confidence  his  ministerial  brethren 
evinced  in  their  intercourse  with  him."  Another  friend  tells 
us  that  at  the  meeting  he  bore  himself  "  loftily;  but  meekly ;" 
another,  that  "  his  general  bearing  was  that  of  one  who  doubt- 
ed not  that  in  time  his  brethren  would  see  that  they  were  in 
a  needless  panic,  and  that  he  was  helping  them  towards  the 
truth." 

An  aged  minister,  who  has  now  departed,  said  to  a  friend 
that  this  meeting  at  Litchfield  was  memorable  to  him,  above 


238  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

all,  for  the  sober,  tender,  and  prayerful  spirit  which  possessed 
the  majority  of  those  gathered  there,  in  view  of  the  responsi- 
bility devolved  upon  them  in  judging  such  a  man  as  Bushnell. 
While  some  of  the  body  were  ready  to  proceed  with  tlie  exe- 
cution, and  did  most  of  the  talking,  and  wliile  there  were 
a  few  who  were  Bushnell  men  in  doctrine,  the  large  majority 
were  in  a  state  of  mind  not  to  be  influenced  or  led  by  any 
leaders.  They  proceeded  carefully  and  earnestly,  because 
they  felt  that  they  were  dealing  with  a  man  of  God,  though 
he  might  be  a  man  of  God  in  error.  A  sort  of  holy  fear 
lest  they  might  do  wrong  brooded  over  the  assemblage,  and 
guided  their  decision. 

Soon  after  this  important  meeting  was  over  Dr.  Bushnell 
took  his  summer  vacation.     From  the  sea-shore  he  wrote  to 

his  wi£e : — 

Stonington,  July  19, 1850. 

...  I  only  wish  you  were  with  me,  if  it  were  your  way  to 
enjoy  this  kind  of  life,  though  I  see  at  once  that  no  woman 
can  greatly  enjoy  it,  because  all  that  gives  it  life  is  out-door, 
on  the  sea,  in  the  sun,  and  among  the  smell  of  fish  and  the 
drench  of  water.  It  becomes  a  relaxation  in  virtue  of  the 
fact,  to  no  small  degree,  that  it  loosens  the  restraints  of  socie- 
ty and  civilization.    Dr.  P is  the  genius  loci,  or  presiding 

god  of  the  place,  which,  you  will  see,  is  a  certain  proof  that 
we  have  a  good  degree  of  aboriginal  liberty  here. 

I  shall  go  back  to  Say  brook  to-morrow,  and  off  into  the 
Sound  or  to  Long  Island,  with  a  party  of  ministers,  on  a  sail- 
ing and  fishing  excursion,  on  Tuesday. 

These  little  times  of  separation  seem  to  me  to  be  a  kind  of 
striking  part  in  our  clock  of  life.  If  we  had  them  not,  it 
would  run  silent,  and  we  should  hardly  know  that  it  ran  at 
all ;  for  the  soft  tick-beat  of  ordinary  experience  only  makes 
the  stillness  itself  audible,  but  breaks  it  not.  I  look  back 
now  along  the  track  of  years  passed  by ;  and  though  it  is  by 
the  tick  alone  that  we  have  known  each  other,  yet  it  is  only 
by  the  loud  strikes,  here  and  there,  of  separation  that  I  get 
any  account  or  register  of  the  minutes,  and  hours,  and  years 
of  undistinguished  comfort  and  unity  of  being  in  which  the 


FISHING  EXCURSIONS.  239 

good  Father  of  our  life  lias  been  leading  us  on.  What  stronger 
evidence  need  we  that  our  life  has  been  happy,  than  that  it  is 
by  our  separations  chiefly  that  we  register  its  flow  ?  .  .  . 

Fishing  excursions,  like  the  one  alluded  to  here,  became,  for 
several  successive  years,  a  favorite  form  of  summer  recreation. 
Mr.  Chesebrough,  who  was  one  of  this  small  party  of  minis- 
ters, tells  us  that  they  went  by  invitation  of  a  friend  who 
owned  a  sail-boat,  running  along  the  shores  of  the  Sound  or 
crossing  to  Long  Island,  and  resting  themselves,  as  hinted 
above,  in  the  relaxed  restraints  of  an  aboriginal  life.  The 
question  was,  not  who  could  write  the  best  sermon,  but  who 
could  catch  the  most  blue-fish,  and  honors  were  distributed 
accordingly.  At  these  times  Dr.  Bushnell  smoked  occasion- 
ally,— a  habit  which  had  been  his  chief  comfort  or  luxury 
during  college  days,  but  which  he  had  conscientiously  dropped 
in  toto  at  the  time  of  his  marriage.  But  when  in  this  out-door 
life  a  cigar  offered  itself,  he  would  say,  "  Come,  Chesebrough, 
let's  sin  a  little,"  and  greatly  enjoy  the  unusual  indulgence. 
A  slight  but  characteristic  anecdote  may  naturally  find  place 
here.  On  his  arrival,  one  day,  in  Chester,  to  make  his  friends 
there  a  visit,  they  found  it  difficult  to  get  him  into  the  house, 
as  he  became  instantly  absorbed  in  walking  about  and  inspect- 
ing, from  every  point  of  view,  a  very  extraordinary  dwelling, 
embellished  with  many  wooden  towers,  minarets,  bow -win- 
dows, and  cupolas,  which  was  the  recent  folly  of  an  ambitious 
owner.  Having  satisfied  himself,  finally,  that  the  case  was  a 
hopeless  one,  he  walked  in  at  his  friends'  open  door,  remark- 
ing, "  There  is  no  way  for  that  man  to  improve  his  house,  un- 
less he  turns  it  bottom-side  up." 

Noticing  one  day  that  a  friend  was  made  miserably  anxious 
by  the  flighty  and  nervous  restlessness  of  a  much-loved  child, 
he  soothed  his  fears  for  the  child's  future  by  words  of  cheer 
like  these : — "  Wait  awhile,  and  you  will  find  your  child  will 
outgrow  all  that,  without  any  agency  of  yours.  It  belongs  to 
a  stage  of  development ;  and  even  if  it  is  chiefly  physical,  as  I 
think  it  is,  she  will  outgrow  that,  too,  with  a  little  care.  All 
you  have  to  do  is  to  keep  her  mind  steadied  in  an  atmosphere 


240  LIFE  OF  HORACE   BUSIINELL. 

of  love  and  trust,  and  healthy  growth  will  do  the  rest."  The 
hope  proved  a  just  one  in  this  case,  as  it  has  in  so  many 
others. 

To  his  Nejyhew. 

Hartford,  SeiJtember  23, 1850. 
.  .  ,  We  are  very  much  pleased  with  your  letter,  because  we 
thought  we  saw  a  right  and  true  spirit  in  it,  which  we  hope 
God  will  assist  you  to  maintain  to  the  end  of  life,  and  which, 
if  you  do,  we  are  certain  will  make  you  just  what  God  de- 
signs you  to  be.  The  great  law  of  character  and  success  in 
all  things  h  faithfulness, — faithfulness  to  God,  to  man,  and  so 
to  one's  self.  I  have  scarcely  known  a  person  who  has  had 
any  real  and  remarkable  success  in  the  world  who  did  not  find 
it  in  and  through  his  fidelity.  It  gives  a  man  character,  and 
confidence,  and  credit  with  others.  It  is  one  of  the  best  safe- 
guards to  character  itself,  or  against  the  dangers  that  beset 
character;  for  it  makes  a  good  centre,  about  which  all  high 
and  noble   virtues   may  gather,  and   form   a   solid,  healthy 

body. ... 

To  the  Bev.  Henry  Goodtvin. 

Hartford,  October  7, 1850. 

My  dear  Friend, — I  am  very  much  rejoiced  to  hear  that  you 
are  in  so  good  a  v^&j.  You  may  be  disappointed  in  some  of  your 
expectations;  but  if  you  can  make  nothing  oi place  and  every- 
thing of  Christ,  you  will  find,  I  am  sure,  that  if  some  things 
are  cross  to  you  in  appearance,  they  will  yet  all  work  together 
for  you  in  the  end.  I  hope  you  will  break  out  of  all  restraints 
of  manner  and  fastidious  habits  of  work,  and  take  off  your  coat 
and  go  into  the  rough  of  Western  life  all  over.  I  would  not 
say  this  to  many,  but  you  are  just  the  man  who  \vill  not,  and 
cannot,  be  hurt  by  it.  You  need  to  throw  yourself  there  upon 
your  work,  to  sink  or  swim,  and  make  a  final  cast  of  the  die. 

I  think  my  trial  heje  for  breath,  or  a  right  to  it,  is  now 
over.  Since  the  meeting  at  Litchfield,  everything  has  been 
very  still.  A *  wrote  me  shortly  after  that  meeting,  sug- 
gesting that  a  personal  interview  might  be  useful.     I  invited 

*  A  member  of  the  "  Fairfield  West"  Association. 


LETTER  FROM   DR.  PORTER.  2J:1 

him,  accordingly,  to  Hartford,  and  he  came  and  stayed  with 
me  for  a  niglit  and  a  part  of  two  days.  We  talked,  and  went 
round  "  the  city  where  I  dwell,"  and  I  think  he  went  away  to 
"give  a  fair  report."  If  not  satisfied,  he  was  greatly  quieted. 
That  meeting  at  Litchfield  was  the  most  beautiful  scene  to  me 
that  I  ever  saw.  Everything  ran  as  by  a  law  to  one  issue,  just 
where  I  would  have  it.  I  never  saw  the  apparent  working  of 
a  higher  power,  too  strong  for  men,  so  clearly.  It  began  like 
an  auto  da  fe^  and  ended  like  an  embrace  of  good-will  and 
charity.  .  .  .        Yours  ever,  IIokace  Bushnell. 

The  storm,  however,  had  only  temporarily  blown  over. 
Nothing  will  more  plainly  indicate  the  state  of  things  than 
a  friendly  private  letter  from  Dr.  Porter,  whose  "  moderation 
was  known  to  all  men,"  and  who,  throughout  all  that  time  of 
trial,  was  the  most  faithful  and  honest  of  friends, — never  a 
partisan,  always  just,  always  kind.  It  will  be  seen  that  Mr. 
A ,  though  "greatl}'  quieted"  at  the  time  by  his  per- 
sonal intercourse  with  Bushnell,  and,  in  the  hour  of  private 
prayer  in  the  little  study,  led  even  to  believe  that  there  was 
something  in  his  faith  not  "  ruinous  to  the  souls  of  men," 
was  soon  found  upon  his  old  ground.  Indeed,  he  was  known 
to  have  accounted  for  this  temporary  aberration  by  saying 
that  he  had  for  the  time  come  under  the  spell  of  Dr.  Bush- 
nell's  personal  presence,  and  been  unduly  influenced  by  a 
certain  fascination  in  the  man.  It  was,  perhaps,  to  this  fact 
that  Dr.  Cleveland,  of  New  Haven,  alluded,  in  a  speech  made 
at  a  meeting  of  the  General  Association,  when  he  said,  "  Nei- 
ther let  it  be  forgotten  that  there  are  serious  disadvantages  in 
proximity  to  such  a  man  as  Dr.  B.  There  is  such  a  thing  as 
being  warped  by  his  personal  influence  and  swayed  by  his 
peculiar  eloquence,  so  as  to  lose  sight  of  the  truth  in  our  ad- 
miration of  the  man." 

But,  to  Dr.  Porter's  letter ! 

Farraington,  November  16, 1850. 
Brother  Bushnell, — You  have  doubtless  heard  that  "  Fair- 
field West "  Association  have  unanimously  agreed  on  a  com- 


242  LIFE   OF   HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

miinication  to  Hartford  Central,  informing  us  that  they  are 
waiting  for  "  the  satisfaction  "  we  are  to  make  them.  Until 
the  last  few  weeks,  I  had  supposed  that  the  whole  earth  was 
at  rest  and  quiet  on  this  subject ;  but,  in  the  mean  while,  I 
have  received  letters  from  various  quarters,  stating  that  "  Fair- 
field West"  will  insist  that  the  controversy  respecting  your 
book  come  to  a  decisive  issue ;  that  unless  we  bring  the 
matter  to  a  judicial  examination,  we  are  to  be  cut  off  from  the 
General  Association,  and  that  this  is  part  of  a  plan,  in  which 
Princeton,  East  Windsor,  and  Massachusetts  Old  School  are 
to  co-operate  in  setting  up  East  Windsor  Seminary  (to  be 
located,  it  is  said,  at  Hartford),  for  the  purpose  of  putting 
down  Bushnellism  and  Parkism  together.  So  you  find  your- 
self in  good  company  at  least.  Our  Association,  then,  must 
come  together.  And  what  shall  be  done?  The  least  that 
can  be  done,  I  think,  is  to  disabuse  the  public  mind  of  the 
notion  that  we  have  closed  the  door  against  a  trial,  and  so 
throw  the  burden  on  the  protesters  of  our  Association  and 
the  malcontents  of  "  Fairfield  West,"  if  they  will  still  declaim 
against  us  for  not  doing  what  themselves  have  full  leave  to 
do,  and  in  all  consistency  with  themselves  ought  to  do.  For 
though  we  have  the  right  to  decide  for  ourselves  whether  we 
will  turn  prosecutors  in  this  case,  and  nobody  can  call  us  to 
account  for  so  doing,  yet  we  have  no  right  to  stand  between 
you  and  a  prosecution  on  the  part  of  others,  when  the  public 
sentiment  seems  to  demand  a  trial.     I  learn,  in  a  letter  from 

Mr.  A ,  that  himself  and  others  will  not  prosecute,  so 

long  as  the  decision  of  our  Association,  that  you  cannot  just- 
ly be  brought  to  trial,  stands  unrevoked ;  that  they  will  not 
meet  you,  so  long  as  you  can  plead  this  m  limine^  to  embar- 
rass procedure  on  the  merits  of  the  case ;  that  we  must,  there- 
fore, rescind  that  decision.  This  we  shall  never  do ;  but  we 
can  say  that  this  decision  ought  not  to  be  regarded  as  a  final 
and  judicial  one ;  that  it  cannot  be  of  this  nature,  since  there 
has  been  no  trial ;  that  it  was  merely  a  preparatory  step  on 
the  question  of  there  being  a  trial ;  that  turning,  as  it  did,  on 
the  construction  to  be  given  to  a  book  of  a  novel  character, 
there  was  room  for  doubt,  and  consequently  a  diversity  of 


"CHRIST  IN  THEOLOGY."  243 

sentiment ;  and  that,  inasmuch  as  the  public  mind  is  unset- 
tled, and  a  majority  of  our  associations  {nine  of  the  fourteen) 
have  decided  that  there  ought  to  be  a  trial,  we  will  not  stand 
in  the  way,  provided  that  a  responsible  prosecutor  shall  ap- 
pear. Something  of  this  sort,  I  think,  we  may  do  and  ought 
to  do ;  and  unless  we  do  it,  I  believe  there  will  be  an  alter- 
cation, if  not  an  open  separation,  among  the  churches  and 
pastors  of  the  State  of  a  most  disastrous  character. ...  I  write 
these  things  mainly  to  pour  out  to  you  a  heart  exceedingly 
oppressed  with  this  painful  subject,  and  that  you  may  know, 
as  a  friend  ought  to  know,  wherein  I  differ  from  you  as  to 
the  course  we  should  take,  and  something  of  the  grounds  of 
this  difference.  .  .  .  May  the  God  of  all  grace  guide  you  and 
us  in  the  path  of  truth  and  duty,  for  his  name's  sake. 

I  am,  as  ever,  yours  truly,  N.  Portek. 

The  Association  of  "  Fairfield  West "  had,  in  fact,  already 
prepared  another  communication  to  the  Hartford  Central,  with 
a  view  to  reopening  a  discussion  of  the  matters  in  controversy, 
and  urging  them  to  present  Dr.  Bushnell  for  trial.  The  re- 
ply, not  given  until  the  following  May,  was  a  dignified  refusal 
to  arffue  or  act  further  in  the  case  without  some  new  evi- 
dence.  Meantime,  in  April,  Dr.  Bushnell  brought  out  his 
new  book,  "  Christ  in  Theology."  In  his  Preface  he  says, 
what  will  sufficiently  explain  his  purpose  in  its  publication  : — 

"This  volume  contains  the  matter  of  an  answer  made  to  the  minis- 
terial Association  of  which  I  am  a  member,  for  the  doctrines  of  my  book, 
'  God  in  Christ,' — a  book  in  which  it  was  rumored  and  extensively  be- 
lieved that  I  had  published  dangerous  or  even  fundamental  errors.  This 
answer  was  made,  and  the  inquiry  itself  formally  terminated,  more  than 
a  year  ago.  Since  that  time  I  have  been  frequently  importuned  by  my 
brethren,  sometimes  by  letter,  sometimes  personally,  to  give  it  to  the  pub- 
lic. For  two  reasons,  I  have  not  been  in  haste  to  make  the  publication. 
First,  I  had  expressed  my  determination  not  to  be  drawn  into  a  contro- 
versy, and  for  a  time  it  was  hardly  possible  to  publish  anything  without 
being  charged  with  receding  from  my  purpose.  But  it  will  be  seen  that 
the  matter  of  this  volume  could  hardly  liave  been  classed  among  wait- 
ings of  controversy  at  any  time.  Indeed,  my  intention  was  not  so  much 
to  defend  as  to  complete  my  doctrine,  by  a  fuller  exposition  of  certain 


94i  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

points,  and  by  a  reference  to  the  opinions  of  others,  and  of  the  Church 
in  this  and  other  ages.  My  principal  endeavor  in  it  is  to  make  my  posi- 
tions more  intelligible ;  in  accomplishing  which,  I  rely  to  a  great  extent 
on  tracing  their  import  comparatively,  which  in  my  book  I  had  scarcely 
done  at  all.  .  .  . 

"  I  have  also  shrunk  from  the  publication  of  this  book  for  a  more  pri- 
vate reason,  which  will  be  sufficiently  suggested  by  citing  the  true  max- 
im which  a  servant  of  God  drew  from  his  own  experience,  when  he 
said,  '  I  am  now  satisfied  that  the  main  cause  of  man's  spiritual  blind- 
ness is  his  letting  his  will  into  somewhat,  or  into  that  which  he  hath 
wrought,  of  whatsoever  nature  it  be,  and  setting  his  heart  and  affections 
upon  the  work  of  his  own  hands  or  head.'  It  is  possiljle,  I  think,  and 
even  easy,  to  bear  the  most  violent  public  assaults  from  unreasonable  and 
bitter  multitudes  of  men  without  disturbance ;  yea,  to  have  one's  peace 
consolidated  by  their  pressure,  and  purified  by  the  fires  they  kindle. 
But  it  is  a  very  different  thing  to  espouse,  voluntarily,  the  work  of  one's 
own  head  before  them,  even  though  it  be  to  speak  for  the  truth,  and  for 
that  only ;  for  there  is  like,  in  that  case,  to  be  somewhat  of  one's  will 
speaking  through  the  interstices  of  the  truth,  or,  what  is  worse,  through 
the  interstices  of  a  shattered  peace  and  a  corrupted  simplicity.  .  .  . 

"As  my  former  volume  was  called  'God  in  Christ,' I  have  called  the 
present '  Christ  in  Theology,'  with  a  design  that  will  be  sufficiently  ob- 
vious. To  complete  the  descending  series  begun,  there  is  wanted  anoth- 
er volume,  showing  the  still  lower,  and,  as  it  were,  sedimentaiy  subsidence 
of  theology  itself,  precipitated  in  the  confused  mixtures  of  its  elements ; 
a  volume  that  shall  do  upon  the  whole  body  of  theological  opinion  in 
New  England  what  my  anonymous  friend  C.  C.  has  done  with  such  fatal 
effect  upon  the  particular  strictures  of  my  adversaries.  To  see  brought 
up  in  distinct  array  before  us  the  multitudes  of  leaders,  and  schools,  and 
theologic  wars  of  only  the  century  past, — the  Supralapsarians  and  Sub- 
lapsariaus ;  the  Arminianizers  and  the  true  Calvinists ;  the  Pelagians  and 
Augustinians ;  the  Tasters  and  the  Exercisers ;  Exercisers  by  Divine  effi- 
ciency and  by  human  self-efficiency ;  the  love-to-being-m-general  virtue, 
the  willing-to-be-damned  virtue,  and  the  love-to-one's-greatest-happiness 
virtue ;  no  ability,  all  ability,  and  moral  and  natural  ability  distinguish- 
ed ;  disciples  by  the  new-creating  act  of  Omnipotence,  and  by  change  of 
the  governing  purpose ;  atonement  by  punishment  and  by  expression ; 
limited  and  general ;  by  imputation  and  without  imputation ;  trinitarians 
of  a  threefold  distinction,  of  three  psychologic  persons,  or  of  three  sets 
of  attributes ;  under  a  unity  of  oneness,  or  of  necessary  agreement,  or  of 
society  and  deliberative  council :  nothing,  I  think,  would  more  certain- 
ly disenchant  us  of  our  confidence  in  systematic  orthodoxy,  and  the  pos- 
sibility in  human  language  of  an  exact  theologic  science,  than  an  exposi- 
tion so  practical  and  serious,  and  withal  so  indisputably  mournful— so 
mournfully  indisputable." 


ARTICLE  BY  DR.  BACON  QUOTED.  245 

Eef  erring  again  to  Dr.  Bacon's  Eeview,  we  find  liim  saying : — 

"  For  my  own  part,  I  was  surprised — and  I  have  not  yet  ceased  to  won- 
der— at  the  thoroughness  and  insight  with  which  he  had  studied  the 
history  of  theology  as  related  to  the  subjects  in  question.  The  result 
was,  that  his  Answer  before  the  Association  is  related  to  the  volume 
which  it  vindicates,  very  much  as  his  defence  of  the  '  Christian  Nurture ' 
was  related  to  that  book.  In  each  instance  (it  seems  to  me)  he  first 
thought  out  his  doctrine  in  his  own  free  way,  and  then  found  himself  as- 
sailed, not  at  all  to  his  surprise,  as  a  subverter  of  established  and  accept- 
ed truths.  In  each  instance  the  assault  seems  to  have  put  him  upon  a 
more  extended  study  of  what  other  men,  whose  authority  on  a  question 
of  orthodoxy  his  opponents  must  acknowledge,  had  thought  and  taught 
on  the  same  subjects.  In  each  instance  the  result  of  his  study  was  a 
discovery  (as  he  maintained  with  great  force  of  argument)  that  his  het- 
erodoxy was  more  orthodox  than  the  provincial  and  comparatively  re- 
cent orthodoxy  which  assailed  him.  No  man  was  less  reverent  than  he 
of  human  authority  in  the  things  of  God  ;  no  man  more  ready  to  surren- 
der, for  the  truth's  sake,  any  of  those  formulated  opinions  which  are  call- 
ed orthodoxy ;  yet  he  could  respect  profoundly  the  labors  and  achieve- 
ments of  other  minds,  from  age  to  age.  in  the  pursuit  of  truth. 

"  He  acknowledged  that  as  no  real  and  sober  truth  is  the  want  of  any 
single  man,  so  no  pretended  truth  is  likely  to  be  regarded  as  anytliing 
better  than  a  personal  caprice  or  eccentricity,  until  other  minds  are  seen 
to  have  been  exercised  in  a  similar  way,  and,  by  rudimental  eflbrts  of  one 
kind  or  another,  reaching  after  the  same  thing.  It  was  not  a  disappoint- 
ment, but  a  glad  discovery,  to  find  himself  more  orthodox  than  he  had 
supposed. 

"  This  is  the  explanation  of  what  seemed  to  some  of  his  friends  a  sort 
of  inconsistency.  Independent  as  he  was  in  his  thinking,  he  felt  very 
painfully  the  accusation,  the  suspicion  even,  on  the  part  of  his  brethren, 
that  he  had  swerved  from  the  truth  of  the  gospel.  He  assumed  that 
their  experience  had  been  not  wholly  unlike  his  own;  and  he  was 
grieved  that  the  views  which  had  given  him  relief  and  victory  in  the 
conflict  with  the  difficulties  of  theology,  and  had  enabled  him  to  see 
with  joyful  intuition  so  much  of  the  glory  of  Christ,  were  to  any  of  them 
the  oifence  of  heresy. 

'•  My  re-examination  of  those  two  volumes,  not  often  consulted  since 
I  fijst  read  them,  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago.  and  my  recollec- 
tions of  the  theological  and  ecclesiastical  disturbance  of  which  they  were 
the  occasion,  have  given  me  a  new  perception  of  their  value  as  a  contri- 
bution not  to  theology  only,  but  also  to  the  advancement  of  religion. 
Freely  and  thankfully  acknowledging  their  efiect  on  myself  I  cannot 
doubt  that  they  have  had  a  similar  efiiect,  though  not  always  the  same, 
on  other  minds.     As  their  author  called  no  man  Master,  so  he  founded 


246  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

no  special  school-party,  and  has  left  behind  him  no  disciples  that  call 
themselves  or  are  called  by  his  name.  But,  what  is  better,  his  influence 
embodied  in  those  volumes  has  contributed  much  to  make  our  New 
England  theology — let  me  rather  say,  all  the  evangelical  theology  of 
our  English  tongue — less  rigidly  scholastic,  more  Scriptural,  broader  in 
its  views,  more  inspiring  in  its  relations  to  the  pulpit  and  to  the  Chris- 
tian life.  The  one  theme  on  which  dissent  from  his  doctrine  has  been 
loudest  and  most  persistent  is  the  work  of  Christ,  the  Atonement.  Yet 
on  that  theme  he  has  been  an  efficient  teacher,  even  of  many  who  pro- 
test against  his  teachings.  If,  in  their  understanding  of  him,  he  has  too 
little  regarded  those  illustrations  of  the  Atonement  which  theologians, 
and  especially  our  New  England  theologians,  have  drawn  from  the  nat- 
ure of  a  moral  government,  he  has  nevertheless  taught  even  the  most 
scholastic  and  logical  expositors,  that  the  saving  work  for  which  He 
who  was  at  once  the  Son  of  God  and  the  Son  of  Man  came  into  our  hu- 
man world  and  lived  and  died,  is  a  theme  too  large,  too  transcendent 
in  its  relations  to  the  infinite  and  the  eternal,  to  be  illustrated  by  any 
one  analogy  or  to  be  comprehended  and  carried  about  in  any  formula. 
It  is  increasingly  characteristic  of  Christian  thought  in  these  last  years 
of  our  century,  that  the  evangelical  churches  are  turning  from  dogmas 
about  Christ  to  Christ  himself,  the  brightness  of  the  Father's  glory  and 
the  express  image  of  his  person." 

To  Dr.  Bartol. 

Hartford,  March  10, 1851. 

My  dear  Friend, — The  months  have  rolled  away  so  rap- 
idly since  I  took  leave  of  you  at  the  cars,  in  my  rather  ludi- 
crous predicament  last  summer,  that  I  hardly  know  what  ac- 
count to  make  of  them.  It  was  well  that  I  persevered  on 
that  occasion,  and  redeemed  my  tardiness  by  jolting  on  all 
night  at  the  tail  of  a  freight  train — punishment  beautifully 
appropriate  to  the  crime — for  if  I  had  no.t,  I  should  have 
fared  badly  in  the  Association  of  the  next  day. 

I  have  never  been  deeper  in  work  than  since  I  saw  you, 
with  what  success  remains  to  be  seen.  I  am  now  just  clear 
of  my  burden,  and  my  new  book,  "  Christ  in  Theology,"  will 
be  out  in  ten  or  twelve  days.  I  will  send  you  a  copy  as  soon 
as  it  is  out.  This  volume,  I  think,  will  be  less  interesting 
than  the  other,  because  it  is  less  fresh,  and  less  of  a  simple 
outspeaking  of  myself.  But  as  a  discussion  of  points,  it  is 
far  more  adequate  than  the  other,  and,  I  think,  will  be  more 


LETTERS.  217 

satisfactory.  Theologians,  I  think,  will  like  it  better  than  the 
other,  because  it  is  more  comparative  and  relative  in  the 
form.  I  am  a  little  doubtful  what  my  Unitarian  friends  will 
think  of  it.  That  will  depend,  I  imagine,  principally  on  the 
degree  of  willingness  they  have  to  see  me  get  some  counte- 
nance from  orthodoxy,  or  to  see  the  real  meaning  and  force 
of  orthodoxy  less  absurd  than  its  friends  are  determined  to 
make  it.  I  believe  some  of  them  have  a  little  mistrusted  my 
firmness  in  the  positions  I  have  taken  ;  of  that  feeling,  I  am 
quite  certain,  they  will  be  wholly  relieved.  They  will  see 
that  I  stand  exactly  where  I  stood  before  in  my  relations  to 
both  parties,  though  I  certainly  would  have  changed,  in  any 
and  every  point,  if  I  had  seen  reason  to  do  it.  This  volume 
has  cost  me  five  times  the  labor  which  the  other  cost,  because 
it  has  put  me  to  the  investigation  of  others,  which,  to  me,  is 
the  hardest  and  most  diSicult  of  all  sorts  of  work.  But  I  am 
fully  repaid  by  the  additional  strength  and  confidence  it  has 
given  me. 

Excuse  my  running  on  thus  about  my  own  book ;  the  rea- 
son is  that  I  have  just  got  rid  of  the  last  proof,  and  my  head 
is  full  of  it.  We  had  a  beautiful  lecture  from  our  common 
friend,  Mr.  Whipple,  a  few  da^^s  ago.  It  was  a  difficult  mat- 
ter to  show  the  cock  in  the  egg,  but  he  made  the  most  of  it ; 
only  he  did  not  make  us  hear  the  crowing  quite  as  distinctly 
as  some  do  who  think  that  the  egg  is  already  hatched.  .  .  . 

To  the  Same. 

Hartford,  May  6, 1851. 
...  Is  it  not  a  hard  thing  we  have  to  do  in  these  times,  not 
to  break  out  in  a  little  excess  ?  For  one,  I  confess  that  I  want, 
about  half  the  time,  to  do  something  that  will  require  to  be 
pardoned ;  and  I  verily  believe  that  I  should,  if  I  were  not 
drawn  more  and  more  towards  the  conviction  that  the  reno- 
vating power  of  true  Christianity  is  the  principal  hope  of 
man ;  and  more  and  more  deeply  impressed  with  a  convic- 
tion of  the  impotence  of  all  attacks  on  sin,  that  take  the  line 
of  morality  or  mere  external  reform.  As  it  is,  I  must  and 
will  say,  as  I  have  opportunity,  that  there  are  things  required 

17 


24:8  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

in  this  abominable  Fugitive  Slave  Law  that  I  -will  not  do — 
no,  not  even  to  save  the  Union.  I  could  cheerfully  die  to  save 
it;  but  chase  a  fugitive  or  withhold  my  sympathy  and  aid 
from  a  fugitive  from  slavery!  —  may  God  grant  me  grace 
never  to  do  the  damning  sin  of  such  obedience  !  Nay,  I  will 
go  farther.  The  first  duty  that  I  owe  to  civil  government  is 
to  violate  and  spurn  such  a  law,  that  is,  in  the  points  alluded 
to.  .  .  . 

To  the  Sev.  Henry  Goodwin. 

May  26, 1851. 

...  I  begin  to  think  of  giving  myself  wholly  to  the  more 
practical  side  of  religion,  and  to  practical  duty  and  work.  I 
seem  to  be  now  very  much  cut  off  from  access  to  the  public ; 
not  so,  I  trust,  from  access  to  God.  God  is  left,  and  he  is 
the  best  public  to  me,  the  only  public  in  which  I  have  any 
satisfaction;  and  I  think  with  the  highest  delight  of  going 
apart  with  him  into  a  desert  place  to  rest  awhile.  I^o,  not  to 
rest,  but  only  to  get  away  from  noise,  and  live  in  the  silence 
of  love  and  duty.  I  long  inexpressibly,  for  the  rest  of  my 
life,  to  be  wdiolly  immersed  in  this  better  element ;  and  it  is 
my  daily  prayer  that  God  will  give  me  this  best  and  most  to 
be  desired  of  all  gifts,  the  gift  of  a  private  benefit  to  be  seen 
in  the  usefulness  of  my  ministry  to  my  own  flock.  These 
know  me  and  love  me,  and  I  pray  that  God  will  enable  me 
to  lead  them  into  his  green  pastures.  .  .  . 

His  book  being  now  off  his  hands,  and  having  cleared  his 
ground  as  far  as  lay  in  his  power,  he  had  a  year  of  compara- 
tive freedom,  and  used  it  partly  for  work  of  a  lighter  kind. 
In  August,  1851,  he  delivered  his  address  on  the  "Age  of 
Homespun,"  at  the  Litchfield  Centennial  Celebration.  The 
selections  given  in  our  first  chapter  in  connection  with  his 
own  early  life  indicate  the  character  of  the  address,  which, 
among  New  England  people,  whose  memories  were  steeped 
in  the  same  recollections,  found  more  favor  than  any  of  his 
public  orations. 

A  newspaper  correspondent,  reporting  the  occasion  of  its 
delivery, gave  a  lively  picture  of  his  person,  in  these  words: — 


PUBLIC  ADDRESSES.  249 

"  The  crowd  assembled  to-day  to  hear  Dr.  Bushnell  was  greater,  if  pos- 
sible, than  that  which  had  witnessed  the  exercises  of  yesterdaj'.  This 
was  attributed,  in  part,  to  the  curiosity  which  is  felt  throughout  New 
England  to  see  the  man  that  has  dared  to  beard  Calvinism  in  its  very 
den.  I  mentioned  in  my  last  letter  that  Dr.  Bushnell  struck  me  as  one 
of  the  most  intellectual-looking  men  I  had  ever  seen ;  I  might  have  add- 
ed that  he  is  a  strikingly  handsome  man.  He  is  of  fine  manly  stature, 
delicately  but  not  feebly  framed,  with  a  very  large  head.  A  line  drawn 
from  the  roots  of  his  hair  over  his  forehead  to  the  bottom  of  his  chin 
would  be  peri^endicular.  His  nose  is  the  Grecian  ideal,  finely  chiselled, 
and  his  mouth  indicates  the  utmost  refinement,  though  not  remarkable 
in  any  other  particular.  His  temperament  is  nervous-bilious,  without  a 
pai-ticle  of  the  sanguine  or  lymphatic  perceptible  in  any  feature  of  his 
person.  He  has  a  good  voice  and  an  unusually  good  elocution  for  the 
pulpit.  ,  .  . 

"  His  sermon, — for  that  was  the  name  given  to  the  performance  by  the 
presiding  officer, — was  a  masterly  piece  of  pious  humor,  designed  to  do 
what  never  before  was  done  as  well, — to  point  out  the  obligations  of  our 
country  to  the  social  habits,  privations,  and  domestic  economies  of  prim- 
itive New  England.  Though  it  occupied  nearly  two  hours  in  its  deliv- 
ery, it  was  listened  to  with  admiring  attention  to  its  close." 

An  address  having  a  similar  object  had  been  given  by  him, 
in  June,  before  the  Legislature  of  the  State,  meeting  at  New 
Britain,  on  the  occasion  of  the  inauguration  of  the  J^ormal 
School.  It  was  a  "  Speech  for  Connecticut,"  a  historical  esti- 
mate of  her  great  men,  and  of  her  important  contributions  to 
the  support  of  national  independence  in  the  war  of  the  Rev- 
olution. He  had  always  an  honest  pride  in  his  native  State, 
too  often  despised  and  counted  out  in  the  achievements  of 
New  England,  and  did  what  he  could  to  add  to  her  laurels. 

To  Dr.  Bartol. 

Hartford,  September  8, 1851. 
My  deae  Feiend, — You  told  me  in  your  last  that  you 
were  going  to  give  your  soul  a  furlough.  I  suppose  the 
furlough  is  now  over,  and  that  you  have  returned  to  the 
ranks  in  brave  military  order.  Instead  of  a  furlough,  I  have 
taken  a  short  permit,  only  fetching  a  turn  round  Lake  Mem- 
phremagog  and  the  green  hills  of  Vermont,  and  returning  by 
Western  New  York.     I  have  had  abundance  of  work  this 


250  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

summer,  as  always,  but  have  been  remarkably  well.  I  only 
went  the  round  I  speak  of  just  to  get  out  of  the  rut,  with 
the  disadvantage,  as  a  result,  that  I  return  so  much  crippled 
in  my  voice  (I  know  not  how)  that,  considering  the  maxim 
vox  et  prceterea  nihil,  it  makes  a  very  hard  case  for  me,  though 
I  think  I  shall  be  out  of  my  difficulties  soon. 

I  had  a  very  delightful  interview  with  our  friend  Hun- 
tington at  the  Commencement  of  Yale,  and  wished  very  much 
that  you  were  there.  I  suppose  you  read  the  conversation 
that  is  going  on  between  the  Register  and  the  Independent, 
as  I  do,  with  the  greatest  interest.  It  is  certainly  a  new 
thing,  and  one  to  thank  God  for,  that  such  an  interchange  as 
this,  one  so  candid,  patient  and  fraternal,  can  at  least  be  main- 
tained between  two  parties  formerly  so  belligerent. 

My  own  position,  as  you  will  understand,  is  now  sufficient- 
ly settled.  I  do  not  say  that  I  have  converted  my  ministerial 
friends  to  my  heresies,  or  any  number  of  them.  But  the 
younger  very  generally  give  me  their  sympathy  and  stand  by 
me,  resolved  that  nothing  shall  be  done  against  me.  And 
that  is  all  I  w^ant.  If  I  can  have  my  position  unmolested, 
it  is  all  I  can  ask. 

Nothing  is  more  beautiful,  I  sometimes  think,  than  to 
watch  the  working  of  men's  opinions,  especially  here  in  ]^ew 
England,  just  at  this  time  that  is  passing.  The  motion  clear- 
ly is  all  in  one  direction,  slow,  silent,  quite  undiscovered  by 
many,  but  still  regular  and  sure.  My  hope  is  that  this  con- 
vergence will  in  due  time  issue  in  a  grand  catholic  coales- 
cence, a  new  and  better  type  of  evangelism,  possible  to  be 
developed  nowhere  else,  and  a  necessary  condition  of  the 
universal  triumph  of  Christianity.  Let  us  wait,  watch,  work, 
and  take  courage.  ... 

To  the  Same. 

Hartford,  November  18. 1851. 

My  dear  Feiekd, — I  was  very  sorry  to  hear  that  you  had 

been  visited  by  some  of  the  bad  angels  that  lurk  about  our 

state  of  infirmity.     Excuse  me :  I  do  not  mean  a  diabolical 

possession  exactly,  but  one  of  those  unhygeiau  spirits  that 


LETTERS.  251 

do  sometimes  plague  the  best  of  us.     I  really  hope  that  one 
of  the  other  kind  would  not  dare  to  attack  you. 

As  for  myself,  I  seem  for  the  last  few  months  to  have  had 
some  kind  of  bad  angel  about  me,  but  in  which  class  to  place 
him  I  can  hardly  guess ;  an  angel  of  dryness,  if  there  be  any 
such, — a  robust,  well-to-do,  but  clums}'-,  unversatile,  half-seeing 
fellow,  that  refuses  to  let  me  be,  or  more  than  half  be,  any- 
body ;  one  that  lets  me  eat  and  work,  and  bids  me  go  on,  but 
laughs  all  the  while  at  the  foolish  figure  I  make.  It  really 
seems  to  me  that  I  was  never  so  little  of  a  live  man  as  I  have 
been  lately ;  and  I  begin  to  think  that  I  am  either  losing  ca- 
pacity, or  else  that  I  have  always  had  much  less  than  I  sup- 
posed. What  a  letting  down  of  our  poor  vanity  is  it  that 
we  suffer,  when,  by  these  changes  of  mood,  we  are  not  only 
reduced  in  quantity  for  the  present  time,  but  have  all  past 
quantity  taken  away  too !  Still,  it  is  a  trifling  comfort  that 
we  can  have  a  forced  hope  of  recovering  a  little  at  some 
future  time. 

What  now  are  you  doing  ?  for  I  hope  you  are  quite  well  by 
this  time,  all  the  better  for  a  little  discipline.  I  want  very 
much  to  see  you  and  talk  over  the  times  with  you,  and  espe- 
cially what  is  dearest  to  us  both,  the  going-on  of  the  better 
world  in  this.  I  have  heard  much  of  Huntington's  sermon 
at  Portsmouth,  and  I  want  very  much  to  see  it.  I  hear  it 
spoken  of  as  a  sermon  that  was  quite  as  remarkable  for  the 
ability  of  it  as  for  the  truth  and  spiritual  excellence ;  all  of 
which  I  can  readily  believe,  for  some  of  the  more  recent 
efforts  of  Mr.  H.  have  placed  him  very  high,  in  my  estima- 
tion, as  a  man  of  genuine  power.  I  think  it  is  very  clear,  is 
it  not,  that  a  good  tendency — a  tendency  to  some  better  un- 
derstanding and  closer  approach  of  unity — is  more  and  more 
visible  ?    Made  mrtute. 

I  shall  send  you  with  this,  or  very  soon,  the  Litchfield 
County  Centennial,  where  you  will  find  a  plain,  homespun 
sermon,  one  that  I  wrote  with  great  zest,  because  it  was  such 
a  freshening  to  me  of  the  past — dull,  of  course,  to  you  for 
the  want  of  any  such  remembrances. 

With  much  of  love  to  yours,  H.  Bushnell. 


252  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

To  the  Bev.  A.  S.  CJiesebrough. 

Hartford,  December  24, 1851. 
Deae  Brother  C.,— I  write  a  few  words  from  tlie  book- 
store just  to  answer  your  note.  I  cannot  undertake  to  write 
a  creed ;  I  have  too  mucli  else  on  my  hands.  I  will  barely 
suggest  what  I  have  often  thought  of, — no  creed  save  what 
is  contained  in  the  covenant  where  the  faith  ivorhs  (such,  for 
example,  as  our  Church  Covenant,  which  I  send  you),  with 
perhaps  something  wrought  into  it,  to  recognize  a  little  more 
directly  depravity  and  regeneration. 

This,  you  know,  was  the  Puritan  Fathers'  method, — no 
creed,  but  a  covenant.  .  .  . 

Ever  yours,  Horace  Bushnell.      . 

The  relations  between  Dr.  Bushnell's  church  and  the  sister 
churches  of  Hartford  were  such,  for  many  years,  as  to  give 
him  great  pain.    He  wished  for  an  apostolic  Christian  fellow- 
ship.    He  was  social,  and  liked  the  cordialities  and  hospitali- 
ties of  the  Church.    But  for  years  none  of  his  Congregational 
brethren  in  the  city  would  exchange  pulpits  with  him,  or 
unite  with  him  in  general  work  for  the  good  of  the  churches. 
A  cold  and  silent  non-intercourse  hedged  him  about.    In  vain 
he  made  friendly  overtures,  and  strove  to  bring  about  a  better 
state  of  feeling.    Dr.  Murdoch,  then  pastor  of  the  South  Bap- 
tist Church,  was  the  only  one  of  the  city  pastors  who  was 
willing  to  exchange  with  him,  and  this  kindness  made  one 
bright  spot  in  the  darkness.    Another  was  found  in  his  friend- 
ship with  the  Eev.  Thomas  M.  Clark,  then  rector  of  Christ 
Church,  whose  urbanity,  culture,  and  liberal-mindedness  made 
his  companionship  a  great  resource.     The  Eev.  William  W. 
Fatten  was  then  the  young  pastor  of  the  Fourth  Congrega- 
tional Church  of  Hartford.    He  tells  us  that,  in  the  early  part 
of  the  controversy  over  "  God  in  Christ,"  Dr.  Bushnell  once 
proposed  to  exchange  with  him,  which  on  personal  grounds 
he  would  have  been  glad  to  do ;  but  having  failed  to  satisfy 
himself  of  the  truth  of  Dr.  Bushnell's  views,  he  felt  obliged 
for  the  time  to  decline.     Having  the  candor  to  explain  him- 


EXCLUSION  FKOM  THE  BROTIIEIIIIOOD  OF  CllUllCIlES.    253 

self  thus,  he  was  touched  and  won  by  the  patience  and  some- 
what saddened  good-temper  with  which  the  dangerous  theo- 
logian met  the  refusal.  It  was  the  beginning  of  his  different 
understanding  of  the  man,  and  of  the  warm  friendship  and 
alliance  which  grew  up  between  them.  We  have  already 
spoken  of  the  venerable  Dr.  Porter,  of  Farmington,  whose 
stanchness  and  generosity  were  a  main-stay  through  all  these 
trying  years.  He  was,  indeed,  a  friend,  unmoved  from  his 
justice  and  forbearance  by  all  his  doubts  of  the  theology  of 
the  disputed  books.  There  were  others,  like  Dr.  Bacon  and 
Dr.  Dutton,  of  New  Haven,  who  were  bound  to  see  fair-play, 
even  for  heretics.  And  among  the  younger  men,  just  com- 
ing in,  there  were  a  number  who  caught  syn^pathetically  at 
Bushnell's  new  points,  and  were  ready  to  go  all  lengths  with 
him. 

But  no  view  of  these  circumstances  can  be  adequate  which 
does  not  include  Dr.  Hawes ;  and  remembering  how  the  Doc- 
tor changed  before  his  death,  and  how  glad  he  finally  became 
to  receive  the  friendship  he  had  once  put  from  him,  it  is  not 
a  welcome  task  to  portray  him  in  his  position  of  hostility  and 
condemnation.  The  respect  which  it  was  impossible  not  to 
feel  for  him,  as  a  man  faithful  to  his  own  convictions  and  de- 
sirous of  doing  right,  made  it  a  duty  laid  upon  the  conscience 
of  Horace  Bushnell,  for  the  sake  of  the  churches,  to  use  all 
honorable  means  of  approach  to  him.  To  this  end  he  laid 
aside  all  personal  pride,  and  made  overture  after  overture  of 
peace  and  good-will. 

In  the  winter  of  1851 -'52  there  was  a  revival  of  relig- 
ion in  Hartford,  during  which  the  churches  represented  by 
Dr.  Hawes,  Dr.  Bushnell,  and  Dr.  Patton  united  in  services, 
at  which  the  preaching  was  by  the  Eev.  C.  G.  Finney,  of 
Oberlin.  Tacitly  a  truce  was  agreed  on — for  thouo-h  Dr. 
Hawes  was  reserved,  and  too  cautious  to  establish  even  the 
appearance  of  Christian  fellowship,  yet  Dr.  Bushnell  could 
afford  to  be  generous  —  and  for  the  time  being  they  took 
part  in  the  same  services.  That  this  required  some  generosi- 
ty on  the  part  of  the  latter,  may  be  guessed  from  the  fact 
that  in  services  held  at  the  Centre  Church  he  was  not  invited 


254  LIFE    OF   HORACE   BUSHNELL. 

to  participate,  even  to  the  extent  of  reading  a  hymn.  This 
state  of  things  was  a  trial  to  the  brotherly  love  of  Mr.  Fin- 
ney, and  he  would  fain  have  become  a  mediator  to  restore 
the  broken  harmony.  Partly  at  his  instigation,  Dr.  Bush- 
nell  expressed  to  Dr.  Hawes  his  willingness  to  make  an  ex- 
periment in  seeing  how  near  they  could  approach  each  other 
on  doctrinal  points,  promising,  on  his  own  part,  to  come  as 
far  as  he  could  without  violating  the  integrity  of  his  con- 
victions. He  had  the  more  hope  of  success  in  such  an  at- 
tempt, because  he  believed,  as  his  books  prove,  that  he  had 
but  gone  back  to  a  more  old-fashioned  orthodoxy  than  that 
then  in  vogue,  and  that  Dr.  Hawes  might  meet  him,  as  far 
as  formulas  go,  in  some  of  the  more  ancient  statements.  The 
attempt  was  made,  but  failed  completely,  and  everything  went 
on  as  before. 

Complaints  were  sometimes  made  of  Dr.  Bushnell's  man- 
ners in  controversy.  His  good  friend  Dr.  Dutton,  of  New 
Haven,  wrote  him,  with  admirable  courage,  a  warning  as  to 
what  other  men  were  saying  of  him  on  this  score.  He  re- 
plied to  Dr.  Dutton  with  perfect  good-nature,  asking  wheth- 
er it  was  chiefly  against  expressions  in  his  books  or  against 
previous  impressions  of  his  personal  manners  that  the  criti- 
cism was  directed.  Tliis  letter,  which  was  not  only  good- 
tempered  but  jocose,  seems  to  have  been  an  immense  relief 
to  the  mind  of  Dr.  Dutton,  who  had  already  begun  to  repent 
of  his  frankness,  fearing  that  it  would  uselessly  wound  and 
offend  his  friend.  In  his  rejoinder,  he  expressed  his  gratifi- 
cation that  his  criticism  had  been  taken  in  so  generous  a 
spirit,  and  sought  to  soften  it  by  saying,  "  Indeed,  I  have 
thought  that  of  late  you  have  made  decided  improvement  in 
what  Willis  calls  '  unlearning  contempt.' "  Contempt  it  was 
not.  It  was  rather  indifference  to  the  thoughts  of  others, 
in  the  absorption  of  his  own  thought,  united  to  a  headlong' 
ardor  which  had  nothing  to  do  with  ill -nature.  It  is  true 
that  in  argument  he  gave,  as  he  was  ready  to  take,  some  hard 
blows ;  but  his  magnanimous  temper  never  harbored  the  re- 
membrance of  an  injury,  and  he  was  as  far  as  possible  from 
making  a  personal  matter  of  a  difference  in  opinion. 


HIS  MANNERS  IN  CONTROVERSY.  255 

President  Porter  says  of  him  : — "  His  self-reliance  and  self- 
assertion  were  founded  njDon  the  consciousness  of  insight  and 
power.  He  was  a  born  leader  of  men,  always  aggressive ; 
not  infrequently  rude  and  rough  in  speech,  but  as  truly 
kindly  in  thought  and  feeling  and  noble  in  aim  and  purpose. 
"VVliatever  defects  were  natural  to  his  strong  self-assertion, 
he  gradually  and  slowly  outgrew.  Otherwise  he  was  excep- 
tionally generous,  courteous,  affectionate,  and  frank,  alive  to 
every  noble  impulse  and  aspiration." 

And,  again,  to  quote  the  recent  words  of  the  Kev.  W.  L. 
Gage : — "  Dr.  Bushnell  was  a  man  whose  humanity  used  of- 
ten to  come  out  in  a  trenchant  wit,  whose  edge  would  cleave 
through  the  dullest  brain.  His  ordinary  conversation  was 
not  humorous,  in  the  strict  sense  of  the  word ;  that  delicate 
robe  which  often  enwraps  the  conversation  of  humorists  was 
not  his ;  but  flashes  of  wit,  bright,  illuminative,  and  unex- 
pected, darted  from  sentence  to  sentence.  He  had  great  sym- 
pathy with  men  ;  common  talk,  common  thoughts,  came  easy 
to  him.  He  could  drop  into  any  counting-room  of  Hartford 
and  make  himself  immediately  at  home.  .  .  .  He  was  never 
better  pleased  than  when  some  man  differed  from  him.  It 
roused  all  the  latent  fire  of  his  being;  he  flashed  all  over, 
and  he  caught  up  weapons  on  all  sides :  wit,  sarcasm,  raillery, 
argument,  analogy,  learned  authority, — everything  was  ammu- 
nition to  his  gun  then  ;  and  he  always  brought  down  his  man. 
If  necessary,  he  would  club  his  musket ;  but  win  he  would, 
and  win  he  always  did.  And  yet  his  weapons  were  generally 
most  gracefully  handled ;  if  he  had  occasion  to  come  to  close 
quarters,  a  clean,  clear,  artistic  stroke.  Yet  he  always  re- 
spected an  honest  adversary  more  than  he  did  the  man  who 
took  him  merely  on  trust :  a  tough,  resisting  intellect  was  al- 
ways more  grateful  to  him  than  a  pliable,  yielding  one.  He 
especially  delighted  in  a  young  and  growing  mind,  and  was 
with  none  more  at  iiome  than  with  his  juniors." 

Equally  applicable  are  some  of  Carlyle's  descriptions  of 
John  Sterling:  —  "He  was  full  of  bright  speech  and  argu- 
ment, radiant  with  arrowy  vitalities,  vivacities,  and  ingenui- 
ties. .  .  .  Elderly  men  of  reputation  I  have  sometimes  known 


256  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

offended  by  liim,  for  lie  took  a  frank  way  in  the  matter  of 
talk ;  spoke  freely  out  of  him,  freely  listening  to  what  others 
spoke,  with  a  kind  of  hail-fellow-well-met  feeling ;  and  care- 
lessly measured  a  man,  much  less  by  his  reputed  account  in 
the  bank  of  wit  or  any  other  bank,  than  by  what  the  man 
had  to  show  for  himself  in  the  shape  of  real  spiritual  cash  on 
the  occasion." 


LECTURES  ON  THE  SUrERNATURAL.  257 


CHAPTEE  XIII. 

1852. 

LECTURES  ON  THE  SUPERNATURAL.  —  MEETING  OF  GENERAL 
ASSOCIATION  AT  DANBURY.  —  NORTH  CHURCH  WITHDRAWS 
FROM  CONSOCIATION.— ADDRESS  ON  RELIGIOUS  MUSIC— ILL- 
HEALTH.— WESTERN  JOURNEY. 

The  following  brief  extracts  from  letters  indicate  suffi- 
ciently the  opening  of  a  new  work  upon  wliicli  Dr.  Bushnell 

bad  entered. 

To  Dr.  Bartol. 

Hartford,  March  23, 1853. 
My  dear  FrienDj-^I  am  most  bappy  to  be  invltid,  if  it  is 
humbly  and  modestly  done,  to  your  hospitality ;  but  I  am  not 
quite  sure  that  you  have  any  right  to  take  on  these  airs  of 
command.  However,  if  you  will  allow  me  to  analyze,  as  the 
philosophers  talk,  accepting  so  much  as  amounts  to  an  invita- 
tion, and  rejecting  all  beyond  that,  till  we  have  had  the  oft- 
desired  pleasure  of  seeing  you  here,  I  will  do  it.  ...  I  have 
been  delivering  a  course  of  lectures  this  winter  for  the  Super- 
natural in  the  Gospel,  or  against  naturalism, — not  a  course 
against  Andrew  Jackson  Davis,  as  the  rogue  has  been  trying 
in  one  way  and  another  to  make  the  public  suppose.  He  will 
have  it,  somehow  or  other,  that  I  am  in  a  controversy  with 
him,  and  I  am  not  sure  that  I  may  not  take  advantage  of  his 
pamphlet,  to  show  in  some  newspaper  that  he  is  an  impostor. 
However,  I  shrink  from  touching  him  in  any  way.  .  .  . 

To  his  friend  Mr.  Chesebrough  he  wrote,  also  in  March, 
"I  suppose  you  may  have  heard  that  I  am  to  deliver  the 
Dudleian  Lecture  at  Cambridge,  in  May,  on  'Revealed  Re- 
ligion.'    1  shall  use  my  last  '  Supernatural '  lecture."     And 


258  LIFE  OF  HOEACE  BUSHNELL. 

again,  in  May,  he  sent  a  line  to  Dr.  Bartol  to  say,  "  I  have 
conchidecl  to  accept  Dr.  Walker's  invitation  to  visit  Cam- 
bridge. After  my  lecture,  I  will  return  and  make  myself 
glad  with  you  once  more." 

Yet  again  in  this  spring  of  1852,  "  Fairfield  West,"  sustain- 
ed by  that  zeal  against  error  which  is  so  difficult  to  distin- 
guish from  a  love  of  truth,  lifted  up  its  voice  in  a  printed 
"Appeal  to  the  Associated  Ministers  connected  with  the  Gen- 
eral Association  of  Connecticut,"  reviewing  the  whole  contro- 
versy, and  presenting,  as  a  warning  against  error,  an  epitome 
of  the  dangerous  teachings  of  Bushnell,  particularly  as  con- 
tained in  the  new  book,  "  Christ  in  Theology."  This  Dr. 
Bushnell  thought  rather  hard.  He  could  consent  to  be  re- 
viewed, but  hardly  to  be  represented  by  "  Fairfield  West," 
acting  as  an  interpreter. 

At  the  next  meeting  of  the  General  Association,  at  Dan- 
bury,  in  the  following  June,  another  attempt  was  made  to 
obtain  a  trial  of  Dr.  Bushnell.  We  make  the  subjoined  ex- 
tracts from  the  printed  report  of  the  meeting,  at  which  it  ap- 
pears he  was  not  present : — 

"  A  memorial  was  read  from  '  Fairfield  "West '  Association,  calling  for 
action  of  the  General  Association  with  reference  to  Dr.  BushnelFs  case, 
complaining  of  the  course  taken  by  the  Hartford  Central  Association 
in  shielding  him  from  discijDline,  and  asking  whether  there  be  not  some 
redress. 

"  A  printed  document  was  also  distributed  through  the  house  contain- 
ing a  protest  from  two  of  the  minority  of  '  Fairfield  "West '  against  the 
further  agitation  of  this  subject,  and  showing  that  nine  members  of  that 
Association  have  voted  against  their  proceedings. 

"A  remonstrance  was  read  from  Dr.  Bushnell  protesting  against  all 
intermeddling  by  the  Association  in  his  case." 

[From  this  remonstrance  we  make  some  brief  quotations. 
The  first  refers  to  the  memorial  just  mentioned.]* 

" '  It  is,  in  fact,  an  application  to  your  body,  that  asks  you  to  resolve 
yourselves  into  an  ex  j)arte  council  over  the  heads  of  my  Association,  and 
to  pass  a  judgment,  sitting  at  Danbury,  against  me  at  Hartford,  without 
a  hearing  or  even  so  much  as  the  form  of  a  trial.     It  raises  an  assembly 

*  Matter  enclosed  in  brackets  is  interpolated. 


THE   GENERAL   ASSOCIATION   AT   DANBUKY.  259 

to  condemn  a  court ;  or,  what  is  not  far  different,  invites  you  to  convert 
your  body,  hitherto  known  as  a  body  only  of  fraternal  conference  and 
symi^athy,  into  a  "  Vigilance  Committee,"  or  self-constituted  tribunal,  ex- 
ercising the  assumed  powers  of  judgment  and  execution,  apart  from  all 
the  ordinary  conditions  and  cautions  by  which  the  rights  even  of  male- 
factors are  so  carefully  guarded  in  well-ordered  civil  communities.  .  .  . 

" '  It  is  hardly  to  be  expected,  in  such  a  case,  that  I  will  come  before 
you  protesting  my  orthodoxy ;  but  I  wish  you  to  be  notified  of  the  con- 
fidence I  have  that,  when  the  smoke  of  these  agitations  is  blown  away, 
it  will  be  discovered  by  any  competent  scholar  and  critic  in  Church  his- 
tory who  may  undertake  to  settle  the  precise  merit  or  relative  import  of 
my  supposed  defections,  that  I  was  really  in  a  closer  agreement  of  doc- 
trine and  a  closer  sympathy  of  evangelic  sentiment  with  the  acknowl- 
edged fathers  and  teachers  of  the  Church,  than  my  brethren  who  are 
testifying  so  great  concern  on  my  account.  The  verdict  will  be,  not  that 
I  raised  any  banner  of  revolt  against  orthodoxy,  but  that,  on  the  con- 
trary, I  only  sought  to  restore  its  equilibrium,  and  keep  it  fitly  adjusted 
to  the  varying  currents  of  thought  and  opinion  involved  in  human  prog- 
ress, as  it  has  been  in  all  ages,  and,  if  it  is  to  be  "  the  everlasting  gospel," 
must  be  in  all  ages  to  come.  I  hope  it  will  not  be  imagined,  brethren, 
that  I  am  anxious  for  the  result  of  your  proceedings.  I  greatly  desire 
your  confidence  and  good  opinion.  I  desire  as  much  the  honor  and 
Christian  dignity  of  your  body ;  and,  more  than  all,  that  no  injustice  be 
done  to  the  truth.  As  a  duty  which  I  owe  especially  to  the  last,  I  offer 
you  this  my  solemn  protest  and  remonstrance  against  any  and  all  pro- 
ceedings in  your  body  touching  the  subject  here  in  question,  with  the 
request  that  it  be  entered  on  your  records  and  published  in  the  minutes 
of  your  body.' " 

[The  debate  upon  the  question  whether  it  was  proper  for 
the  General  Association  to  interfere  was  again  a  long  and 
heated  one.  Lengthy  speeches  were  made  on  both  sides,  by 
men  who  had  not  previously  taken  part  in  the  controversy. 
It  was  obvious  that  not  all  the  instigations  to  attack  came 
from  "  Fairfield  "West,"  though  that  Association  was  again  in 
the  front.  One  of  their  number  closed  a  violent  speech  with 
these  words : — ] 

"  Sir,  we  are  in  earnest.  We  can  never  sit  down  contented  in  fellow- 
ship with  those  who  teach  such  doctrines,  or  who  give  them  their  sliield 
and  countenance.  Division  is  the  very  last  resort,  to  be  thought  of  only 
when  all  other  possible  efforts  shall  have  failed.  I  joray  God  that  the 
necessity  for  such  a  division  may  never  come.  But  if,  in  the  last  resort, 
there  shall  be  no  other  remedy,  but  we  must  hold  such  doctrines,  their 


260  LITE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

propagators,  and  abettors,  in  fellowship,  then  I  pray  God  that  there  may 
be  life  enough  left  to  divide." 

[The  committee,  to  whom  the  matter  ^Yas  at  last  referred, 
submitted  the  following  report,  which  was  adopted : — ] 

"The  General  Association  having  taken  into  consideration  the  memo- 
rial of  '  Fail-field  "West '  Association,  respecting  the  action  of  Hartford 
Central  Association,  with  reference  to  Dr.  Horace  Bushnell,  and  also  the 
protest  of  Dr.  Bushnell  concerning  the  same,  do  resolve : — 

"  1.  That  we  hereby  declare  again  the  truth  which  was  well  expressed 
by  the  General  Association  in  1840,  that  the  General  Association  is  not  a 
legislative  or  judicial  body,  but  a  body  for  mutual  consultation,  advice, 
and  brotherly  love. 

"2,  That  it  is  the  opinion  of  this  General  Association  that,  in  the  pres- 
ent state  of  public  feeling  in  regard  to  the  publications  referred  to  in  the 
memorial  from  the  Association  of  '  Fairfield  West,'  all  the  parties  con- 
cerned should,  in  the  exercise  of  Christian  charity,  remove,  so  far  as  pos- 
sible, every  obstacle,  -whether  real  or  supposed,  to  a  full  and  fair  investi- 
gation, according  to  our  ecclesiastical  rules,  and  we  do  hereby  advise  to 
such  a  course." 

This  action  of  the  General  Association  made  it  clear  that 
only  one  method  of  procedure  was  now  left  to  the  opposi- 
tion. If  three  persons  could  be  found  in  Dr.  Bushnell's 
church  who  could  be  persuaded  to  enter  complaint  against 
him  before  the  Hartford  North  Consociation,  to  which  the 
church  belonged,  he  might  be  brought  to  trial  before  that 
body.  For  years  industrious  attempts  had  been  made  to  find 
three  such  persons,  but  not  one  of  them  had  been  discov- 
ered. Outside  interference  of  this  sort  was  now  renewed, 
greatly  to  the  annoyance  of  a  peaceably  disposed  and  strong- 
ly united  church.  Under  such  influences  a  strong  feeling 
was  awakened  within  its  walls,  and,  after  much  private  con- 
ference, a  meeting  of  the  church  was  called  at  the  request 
of  its  leading  men.  This  meeting  was  fully  attended,  the 
subject  was  discussed  fi'eely,  and  the  unanimous  vote  of  the 
body  was  finally  given  to  withdraw  from  the  Consociation. 
By  this  measure  they  placed  themselves  on  the  same  footing 
•with  twenty-nine  other  unconsociated  churches  in  the  State, 
and,  in  fact,  on  the  ordinary  footing  of  Congregational 
churches  everywhere, — the  Consociation  belonging  rather  to 


FRIENDS.  261 

a  Presbyterian  than  to  a  Congregational  form  of  clmrcli  gov- 
ernment, and  being  peculiar  to  Connecticut.^'^ 

The  vote  of  the  North  Church,  passed  without  a  dissenting  ^ 
voice  on  Sunday  evening,  June  27, 1S52,  was  as  follows : — 

"  Voted,  That  we,  the  North  Church  in  Hartford,  not  regarding  a  con- 
sociated  connection  with  other  churches  as  essential  to  good  order,  fel- 
lowship, and  standing  among  them  (which  we  earnestly  desire  to  preserve 
and  cherish),  do  hereby  withdraw  from  all  connection  with  the  North 
Consociation  of  Hartford  County." 

The  record  of  the  vote  was  accompanied  by  the  statement 
that  this  action  was  taken  without  the  advice  or  instigation 
of  the  pastor. 

To  the  Rev.  A.  S.  Chesebrough. 

Hartford,  July  6, 1853. 

My  dExVr  Feiend, — I  can  hardly  tell  you  how  good  it  is  to 
hear  some  one  speak  as  a  friend,  that  is,  in  the  full,  unquali- 
fied assent  of  confidence  and  sympathy.  I  have  a  great  many 
who  call  themselves  friends,  and  who  would  be  hurt  if  I  were 
to  call  them  by  any  other  name ;  I  believe  they  respect  me, 
and  mean  to  have  justice  done  me;  but  they  have  a  great 
many  qualifications,  some  that  are  qualifications  of  prudence, 
and  have  reference  to  the  saving  of  themselves  from  unneces- 
sary reproach,  and  some  that  are  really  required  by  the  partial 
coincidence  they  have  with  my  sentiments.  But  there  are 
only  a  few,  God  bless  them,  who  have  been  ready  to  give  me 
their  open,  unrestricted  sympathy,  as  you  have  done,  and  in 
your  letter,  despite  of  the  rather  frowning  as]3ect  of  my  af- 
fairs, continue  to  do.  I  hardly  know  whether  my  "  martyr- 
dom "  is  at  hand,  as  you  suggest,  or  not.  I  did  begin  to  think 
it  might  be  so ;  but  the  more  I  turn  the  matter  about,  the 
less  do  I  see  how  tlie  fire  is  going  to  be  kindled.  There  is 
really  no  way  left  of  coming  at  me  now,  nnless  they  attack 
my  church  first,  in  the  matter  of  their  withdrawal,  denying 


*  See  Dr.  Bacon's  article  on  Horace  Bushnell,  in  the  New  Englander  for 
September,  1879,  and  also  Dr.  BushnelFs  own  explanations,  in  Chapter 
XIV.  of  this  book. 


262  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

their  right  and  making  it  an  act  of  revohitiou,  which  I  think 
will  be  a  rather  unpopular  undertaking.  I  was  a  good  deal 
in  doubt  about  this  step ;  but,  while  I  was  deliberating,  the 
matter  was  taken  out  of  my  hands,  and  I  consented  to  let  it 
be  so.  I  wish  you  could  have  been  at  the  meeting  of  the 
church.  It  was  a  beautiful  sight,  all  in  just  the  temper  of 
calmness  and  decision  that  I  could  wish.  And  now  the  more 
I  look  at  the  matter,  the  more  I  seem  to  see  that  it  w^as  of 
God.     Let  us  wait  in  God  and  see. 

To  Br.  Bartol. 

Hartford,  July  19, 1852. 

My  dear  Fkiend, — I  am  glad  to  know  that  my  position 
in  reference  to  my  ecclesiastical  adversaries  satisfies  you.  It 
is  even  the  more  w^elcome  to  know  that  my  friends  whom  I 
most  respect  approve  it,  that  I  think  it  is  approved  by  God. 
This,  at  least,  has  been  my  first  and  principal  study,  and  I  feel 
the  more  confident  that  I  have  his  sanction,  that  good  and 
right-seeing  minds  are  able  to  yield  me  theirs.  The  step  re- 
cently taken  by  my  church  is  theirs,  not  mine,  though  I  sup- 
pose I  could  have  kept  them  from  it  still,  as  I  have  done  for 
the  past  two  years,  if  I  had  seen  fit  to  exert  myself  in  that 
way.  There  was  no  need  of  such  a  step,  because  of  any  dan- 
ger that  threatened  me,  in  case  of  a  trial  before  the  Conso- 
ciation. I  should  have  carried  my  point,  but  it  would  have 
cost  a  whole  year's  struggle ;  the  trial  would  have  been  a 
farce, — not  a  trial,  but  only  a  polling  of  votes  already  fixed, 
for  the  most  part ;  and  then  my  adversaries  would  not  have 
been  able  to  sit  down  under  their  defeat  any  the  more  quiet- 
ly. Therefore,  I  concluded  that  the  better  way  was  to  be  off, 
and  throw  myself  on  my  character  at  once.  AVhat  now  is  to 
come  I  do  not  know, — something,  doubtless ;  the  agitation 
will  go  on  in  some  new  shape ;  it  cannot  rest. 

I  heard  of  you  and  Mr.  Bellows  the  other  day,  up  in  the 
White  Mountains,  and  could  not  but  w^ish  tliat  I  was  with 
you.  I  see  by  the  Inquirer  that  he  is  beginning  to  frisk 
again,  showing  very  decided  tokens  of  returning  life  and 
health.     I  hope,  when  he  gets  well,  that  he  will  be  so  well 


ADDRESS  ON   MUSIC.  263 

as  to  come  out  a  sound,  tlioronglily  orthodox,  well -braced 
dogmatist,  a  little  intolerant, — just  a  little.  Give  liim  my 
very  special  regards. 

In  August,  Dr.  Buslinell  was  in  New  Haven,  where  he  de- 
livered an  address  on  Religious  Music  before  the  Beethoven 
Society  of  Yale  College.  This  was  published,  together  with 
one  on  the  same  subject,  by  the  Ilev.  Thomas  M.  Clark,  now 
Bishop  of  Rhode  Island.  There  was  an  agreeable  harmony 
in  these  two  musical  tlicmes,  and  the  little  pamphlet  in  which 
they  appeared  was  an  attractive  one.  From  that  by  Dr.  Bush- 
noil,  on  "  the  powers  of  music  hidden  in  things  without  life," 
we  must  give  one  passage,  remarkable  not  only  for  its  pro- 
foundly beautiful  thought  and  melodious  expression,  but  as 
showing  how  keenly  susceptible  to  music  he  was,  and  how 
musically  organized,  indeed,  his  whole  nature  must  have 
been : — 

"As  we  are  wont  to  argue  the  invisible  things  of  God,  even  his  eternal 
l^ower  and  Godhead,  from  the  things  that  are  seen,  finding  them  all  im- 
ages of  thought  and  vehicles  of  intelligence,  so  we  have  an  argument  for 
God  more  impressive,  in  one  view,  because  the  matter  of  it  is  so  deep  and 
mysterious,  from  the  fact  that  a  grand,  harmonic,  soul-interpreting  law 
of  music  pervades  all  the  objects  of  the  material  creation,  and  that  things 
without  life — all  metals,  and  woods,  and  valleys,  and  mountains,  and  wa- 
ters— are  tempered  with  distinctions  of  sound,  and  toned  to  be  a  language 
to  the  feeling  of  the  heart.  It  is  as  if  God  had  made  the  world  about  us 
to  be  a  grand  organ  of  music,  so  that  our  feelings  might  have  play  in  it, 
as  our  understanding  has  in  the  light  of  the  sun  and  the  outward  colors 
and  forms  of  things.  What  is  called  the  musical  scale,  or  octave,  is  fixed 
in  the  original  appointments  of  sound,  just  as  aI)solutely  and  definitely  as 
the  colors  of  the  rainbow  or  prism  in  the  optical  properties  and  laws  of 
light.  And  the  visible  objects  of  the  world  are  not  more  certainly  shaped 
and  colored  to  us,  under  the  exact  laws  of  light  and  the  prism,  than  they 
are  tempered  and  toned,  as  objects  audible,  to  give  distinctions  of  sound 
by  their  vibrations,  in  the  terms  of  the  musical  octave.  It  is  not  simply 
that  we  hear  the  sea  roar  and  the  floods  clap  their  hands  in  anthems  of 
joy;  it  is  not  that  we  hear-the  low  winds  sigh,  or  the  storms  howl  dole- 
fully, or  the  ripples  break  peacefully  on  the  shore,  or  the  waters  dripping 
sadly  from  the  rock,  or  the  thunders  crashing  in  horrible  majesty  through 
the  ijavements  of  heaven ;  not  only  do  all  the  natural  sounds  we  hear 
come  to  us  in  tones  of  music  as  interpreters  of  feeling,  but  there  is  hid  iu 

18 


264  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

the  secret  temper  and  substance  of  all  matter  a  silent  music,  that  only 
waits  to  sound,  and  become  a  voice  of  utterance  to  the  otherwise  unut- 
terable feeling  of  our  heart — a  voice,  if  we  will  have  it,  of  love  and  wor- 
shijD  to  the  God  of  all.  ,  .  . 

"  It  cannot,  therefore,  be  said  that  music  is  a  human  creation,  and,  as 
far  as  the  substances  of  the  world  are  concerned,  a  mere  accident.  As 
well  can  it  be  said  that  man  creates  the  colors  of  the  prism,  and  that 
they  are  not  in  the  properties  of  the  light,  because  he  shaj^es  the  prism 
by  his  own  mechanical  art.  Or  if  still  we  doubt,  if  it  seems  incredible 
that  the  soul  of  music  is  in  the  heart  of  all  created  being,  then  the  laws 
of  harmony  themselves  shall  answer,  one  string  vibrating  to  another, 
when  it  is  not  struck  itself,  and  uttering  its  voice  of  concord  simply 
because  the  concord  is  in  it,  and  it  feels  the  pulses  on  the  air  to  which  it 
cannot  be  silent.  Nay,  the  solid  mountains  and  their  giant  masses  of  rock 
shall  answer;  catching,  as  they  will,  the  bray  of  horns,  or  the  stunning 
blast  of  cannon,  rolling  it  across  from  one  top  to  another  in  reverberating 
pulses,  till  it  falls  into  bars  of  musical  rhythm  and  chimes  and  cadences 
of  silver  melody.  I  have  heard  some  fine  music,  as  men  are  wont  to 
speak — the  play  of  orchestras,  the  anthems  of  choirs,  the  voices  of  song 
that  moved  admiring  nations.  But  in  the  lofty  passes  of  the  Alps  I 
heard  a  music  overhead  from  God's  cloudy  orchestra — the  giant  peaks 
of  rock  and  ice,  curtained  in  by  the  driving  mist,  and  only  dimly  visible 
athwart  the  sky  through  its  folds — such  as  mocks  all  sounds  our  lower 
worlds  of  art  can  ever  hope  to  raise.  I  stood  (excuse  the  simplicity) 
calling  to  them,  in  the  loudest  shouts  I  could  raise,  even  till  my  power 
was  spent,  and  listening  in  compulsory  trance  to  their  reply.  I  heard 
them  roll  it  up  through  their  cloudy  worlds  of  snow,  sifting  out  the 
harsh  qualities  that  were  tearing  in  it  as  demon  screams  of  sin ;  holding 
on  upon  it  as  if  it  were  a  hymn  they  were  fining  to  the  ear  of  the  great 
Creator,  and  sending  it  round  and  round  in  long  reduplications  of  sweet- 
ness, minute  after  minute ;  till  finally  receding  and  rising,  it  trembled,  as  it 
were,  among  the  quick  gratulatious  of  angels,  and  fell  into  the  silence  of 
the  pure  empyrean.  I  had  never  any  conception  before  of  what  is  meant 
by  quality  in  sound.  There  was  more  power  upon  the  soul  in  one  of 
those  simple  notes  than  I  ever  expect  to  feel  from  anything  called  music 
below,  or  ever  can  feel  till  I  hear  them  again  in  the  choirs  of  the  angelic 
world.  I  had  never  such  a  sense  of  purity,  or  of  what  a  simijle  sound 
may  tell  of  purity,  by  its  own  pure  quality ;  and  I  could  not  but  say,  O 
my  God,  teach  me  this !  Be  this  in  me  forever !  And  I  can  truly  afiirm 
that  the  experience  of  that  hour  has  consciously  made  me  better  able  to 
think  of  God  ever  since — better  able  to  worship.  All  other  sounds  are 
gone — the  sounds  of  yesterday  heard  in  the  silence  of  enchanted  multi- 
tudes are  gone ;  but  that  is  with  me  still,  and,  I  hope,  will  never  cease  to 
ring  in  my  spirit  till  I  go  down  to  the  slumber  of  silence  itself."'  .  .  . 


A  FAILURE   IN    HEALTH.  265 

The  writing  and  delivery  of  this  address,  coming  in  August 
at  the  usual  vacation -tiniCj  and  at  the  culminating  point  of 
the  harassing  work  and  worry  of  several  years,  seems  to  have 
been  the  last  added  burden  under  which  strength  gave  way. 
His  health  had  been  slowly  declining,  and  of  late  the  trials 
of  his  patience  had  taxed  his  nervous  system  severely.  On 
coming  back  to  New  Haven,  after  a  Sunday's  absence  and 
preaching,  he  wrote  home: — "I  have  just  returned  from 
Woodbury,  and  stand  up  to  write  on  the  top  of  my  mantel- 
piece a  few  words,  just  to  say — here  I  am.  Few  they  must 
be,  because  my  knees  tremble  too  much  to  make  it  very  com- 
fortable. ,1  go  this  afternoon  to  Lyme.  I  think  I  shall  be 
better  when  I  get  to  sea."  Thus  courage  and  work  stood  by 
him,  while  health  was  departing.  "  Less  than  any  man  he 
gave  you  the  idea  of  ill-health.  Ill-health  ?  Nay,  you  found 
out  at  last  it  was  the  very  excess  of  life  in  him  that  brought 
on  disease.  Tliis  restless  pla}'-  of  being,  fit  to  conquer  the 
world,  could  not  be  held.  It  had  worn  holes  in  the  outer 
case  of  it,  and  there  found  vent  for  itself."* 

Stonington,  August,  1852, 
My  dear  Wife, — I  can  hardly  tell  you  how  refreshing 
your  last  letter  (the  one  I  found  at  Lyme  on  my  return)  was 
to  me.  I  shall  keep  it  as  one  of  your  best  and  happiest.  It 
tells  its  own  story  without  ambiguity ;  the  joy,  the  peace,  of 
the  divine  Spirit  breathes  in  it,  and  that  so  freely  that  I  catch 
the  breath  by  a  sympathy  that  is  quickened  by  the  sense  of  it. 
Oh  that  I  could  say  that  I  have  the  same  measure  of  fulness 
and  peace  myself !  I  have  touches,  tastes,  libations,  but  the 
flood  I  certainl}''  have  not.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  which  you 
are  like  to  hear  exaggerated  in  some  other  way,  I  had  a  visi- 
tation at  Chesebrough's,  in  Chester,  the  night  after  I  mailed 
my  last  letter,  which  a  little  alarmed  me.  I  was  waked,  or 
rather  half-waked,  in  the  night  by  a  singular  fit  of  coughing, 
connected  with  what  I  supposed  to  be  a  rapid  secretion  in 
my  throat,  but  I  found  in  the  morning  that  I  was  raising 

*  Sentences  borrowed  from  Carlyle's  "  Life  of  Sterling." 


266  LIFE   OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

blood.  I  went  to  consult  a  physician,  next  door,  but  he  was 
away.  I  allowed  a  neighbor  to  send  after  some  one  to  preach. 
On  consulting  the  physician  on  his  return,  I  concluded  to 
preach  in  the  afternoon  merely  the  sermon,  the  other  min- 
ister taking  the  prayer.  I  had  some  diflSculty  in  deciding 
whether  to  go  to  Newport  or  turn  homeward.  But  I  made 
up  my  mind  that  the  sea  air  and  bathing  were  certainly  in- 
vigorating to  my  system,  which  must  result  in  a  removal 
finally  of  the  disease.  The  result,  so  far,  has  justified  my  de- 
cision ;  I  am  gaining  all  the  time  consciously  in  vigor,  and 
my  throat  is  better.  .  .  . 

To  the  Same. 

Saratoga,  September  15, 1852. 

I  wrote  L ,  a  day  or  two  since,  that  I  should  try  to  be 

at  home  again  the  latter  part  of  this  week.  I  am  not  quite  as 
clear  of  my  enemy  as  I  thought  I  was,  and  yet  hope  to  be, 
but  shall  fulfil  my  promise,  at  any  rate.  I  cannot  bear  to  be 
off  here,  nursing  myself  or  trying  to  please  myself,  while  you 
are  wearing  out  your  burden  of  infirmities  alone  at  home.  I 
did  really  hope  that  you  were  going  to  come  out  and  be  free, 
and  was  a  little  disappointed   and  saddened  to  hear  from 

L the  account  of  your  weakness.     Still,  I  remember  the 

sweet  peace  and  freedom  your  Father  was  giving  you  to  be 
the  joy  and  the  medicating  power  of  your  infirmity  ;  and  that, 
I  am  quite  sure,  he  has  not  taken  away.  I  was  very  tenderly 
touched,  a  day  or  two  since,  as  I  came  across  the  fact  that 
Paul  was  in  his  prison,  with  the  chains  upon  his  hands,  when 
he  wrote  his  beautiful  appeal, "  Kejoice  in  the  Lord  always, 
and  again  I  say,  Rejoice."  He  could  not  rejoice  in  man  or  re- 
joice in  himself,  but  in  the  Lord  he  could  even  now  and  al- 
ways rejoice, — the  more  heartily,  triumphantly,  gloriously  re- 
joice. Is  it  not  true  that  we  may  even  the  more  consciously 
and  blissfully  rejoice,  that  without,  in  the  world,  in  the  body, 
we  have  nothing  to  feed  our  enjoyment  or  supply  the  springs 
of  our  peace  ?  It  is  a  great  comfort  to  me  that  I  can  believe, 
or  hold  the  confidence,  that  you  know  what  this  means. 
Would  that  I  had  the  grace  to  abide  in  this  divine  joy,  and 


LETTERS.  267 

take  the  harvest  of  it  for  myself !  But  my  mind,  I  am  obh'ged 
to  confess,  is  more  clouded  than  it  should  be.  For  some  rea- 
son, I  allow  myself  to  be  more  discouraged  and  depressed  at 
times  than  becomes  me.  Instead  of  proving  the  joy  that 
faith  ought  to  minister,  I  seem  to  be  learning  how  little  there 
is  in  the  flesh.  How  foolish  and  weak,  how  carnal,  rather,  and 
criminal  is  it,  to  be  wilted  or  clouded  because  a  little  touch  of 
infirmity  in  the  body  invades  one's  power,  and  overcasts  the 
certainty  of  one's  prospects !  It  should  not  be  so ;  it  is  wrong. 
If  the  chain  is  on  me,  then  I  ought  in  the  Lord  to  be  free, 
and  the  more  that  he  who  is  all  goodness  and  wisdom  puts  on 
the  chain  himself.  I  should  like  to  believe  that  he  is  trying 
me  now,  and  letting  down  my  self-confidence,  in  order  to  give 
rae  a  more  complete  confidence  in  him,  and  reduce  me  to  a 
more  complete  and  believing  homage  to  himself.  Be  it  as  it 
may,  he  knows  what  is  the  best  use  to  make  of  us  both ;  and 
if  he  means  to  use  us  no  more  in  works  but  in  patience,  a  bet- 
ter than  we  was  used  in  that  manner,  and  God  forbid  that  we 
should  shrink  from  his  counsel.  .  .  . 

In  October,  finding  that  the  condition  of  his  health  made  a 
long  rest  necessary,  he  decided  upon  a  Western  trip  with  some 
friends.  He  found  it  very  hard  at  this  time  to  leave  his 
work,  but  confessed  that,  "  when  his  knuckles  were  rapped  so 
hard,  he  had  no  choice  but  to  let  go."  The  first  stage  of  their 
journey  brought  them  to  a  Sunday's  rest  at  Oberlin,  where 
they  found  his  warm  friends  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Finney.  Thence 
he  wrote  home  : — 

..."  I  write,  you  will  perceive,  from  the  notorious  place 
where  sin  is  so  hardly  dealt  with,  and  raises  so  bitter  an  out- 
cry. The  first  night  after  I  left  you,  about  twelve  o'clock,  I 
went  on  board  the  steamboat  at  Dunkirk,  The"  wind  was  be- 
ginning to  blow  a  gale,  and  we  lay  there,  accordingly,  till  the 
next  forenoon,  when,  launching  out,  we  fell  in  with  a  great 
steamboat,  loaded  with  passengers,  disabled  by  a  schooner  that 
ran  into  her  wheel-house  the  night  before.  The  next  morning 
at  daylight,  delayed  by  what  we  had  done  for  the  boat,  we  ar- 
rived at  Cleveland.     There  we  spent  the  morning,  and  in  the 


268  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

afternoon  came  off  to  spend  our  Sunday  here.  Our  friends, 
the  Finneys,  are  both  glad  as  they  can  be  to  see  me,  and  I  am 
spending  the  night  with  them.  I  have  had  a  most  happy  and 
blessed  day  here." 

Chicago  was  the  next  point  on  the  journey,  reached  after 
an  exhausting  day's  and  night's  travel,  before  the  invention 
of  sleeping-cars.  Thence,  after  a  few  hours'  rest,  he  pushed 
on  alone  to  Galena,  through  two  more  sleepless  nights,  with 
the  purpose  of  going  on  to  Minnesota,  should  he  find  naviga- 
tion still  open  upon  the  river.  From  Galena  he  wrote  in 
great  weariness  to  his  wife  : — 

.  .  .  "Alas!  between  hotels,  and  visitors,  and  mortal  pound- 
ings, and  sleepless  nights,  I  can  do  nothing  more  than  to  sing 
the  old  song,  and  tell  you  how  fondly  my  heart  turns  back  to 
find  rest  with  you.  Whether  I  shall  go  up  beyond  the  Falls 
of  St.  Anthony  to  Fort  Eipley  is  uncertain,  but  I  shall  go  as 
far  as  I  can,  and  shall  not  stop  for  any  slight  cause.  The 
weather  is  now  soft  and  beautiful,  but  there  is  a  possibili- 
ty that  I  may  see  snow  within  two  days.  If  I  should  get 
shut  up  in  those  hyjDcrborean  regions,  to  keep  winter-quarters 
there,  why,  then,  good-bye." 

Three  weeks  later,  on  his  return  from  the  North,  he  wrote 
again  from  the  same  place. 

Galena,  November  11, 1852. 

My  deakest  "Wife,  —  I  returned  this  forenoon  from  my 
Fort  Kipley  tour,  and  am  now  for  the  first  time,  after  my 
dinner,  permitted  to  go  into  my  room  and  say, "  Here  is  quiet ; 
here  I  can  think,  and  love,  and  pray,  and  be  clean,  and  be,  in 
fact,  myself."  In  this  mood  or  opportunity  I  set  myself,  first 
of  all,  to  write  to  you,  not  a  little  concerned,  however,  lest 
some  one  coming  in  the  snow-storm  may  knock  at  my  door 
and  break  my  retirement. 

I  have  had  a  very  weary  and  trying  journey  to  the  North. 
Had  I  known  what  it  would  cost  me  in  time,  money,  suffer- 
ing, and  perhaps  in  health,  I  think  I  should  have  desisted. 
And  yet  I  am  very  glad  to  have  gone ;  or,  if  not  very,  but 
only  a  little  glad,  it  is  because  I  return  with  a  cold  upon  me, 
which  has  brought  back  some  of  my  old  sensations,  of  which, 


LETTERS.  269 

before  I  left  this  place,  I  was  beginning  to  be  quite  clear. 
The  cold,  however,  sensations  and  all,  appears  to  be  yielding 
and  retiring.  I  I'eached  Fort  Kipley  by  a  hard-fought  battle, 
and  got  back  to  St.  Paul  by  one  much  harder,  even  a  battle 
with  a  hard  prairie  snow-storm.  I  suffered  prodigiously, 
never  so  much  in  my  life  under  any  other  exposure.  Riding 
in  the  open  air  across  the  bleak,  interminable  prairie,  uncer- 
tain of  the  way,  able  to  find  no  sign  or  to  see  any  shore ;  then 
to  roll  up  in  a  buffalo-robe  in  a  hovel  at  night  for  sleep, — 
alas !  not  possible,  in  the  snows  filtering  through  the  roof 
and  the  chinks  of  the  logs  on  the  sides ;  there  to  hear  the 
storm  roar  on,  wild  and  dreadful,  all  the  night,  shivering  in 
response  to  its  frightful  music — I  assure  you  there  is  little  of 
child's-play  in  this.  I  want  no  more  of  it  as  long  as  I  live, 
no  more  of  prairie  in  any  shape.  I  reached  St.  Paul  at  last, 
in  time  for  my  boat,  and  am  now  here  waiting  for  a  boat 
down  the  river,  uncertain  when  I  shall  have  it,  or  whether 
I  shall  have  any.  All  depends  on  the  weather.  The  river 
may  close  up  in  three  days,  but  I  expect  to  be  in  St.  Louis 
some  time  next  week. 

Oh,  I  wish  I  could  tell  you  how  dear  to  me  is  the  picture 
of  my  home,  and  what  a  halo  invests  it !  Never  did  it  seem 
to  wear  a  look  so  nearly  paradisiac,  never  did  I  seem  before 
to  have  undervalued  so  criminally  God's  blessing  in  it.  My 
heart  longs  after  it,  even  as  the  heart  of  an  exile.  I  seem  to 
have  been  absent  now  full  twenty  years,  undergoing,  as  it 
were,  some  kind  of  purgatorial  fire  to  chasten  my  defect  of 
gratitude. 

God  bless  you  all,  and  all  that  ask  for  me. 

Galena,  November  13, 1853. 
My  dear  Daughter, — I  returned  to  this  place  from  a  long 
excursion  to  the  North  Pole,  alias  Fort  Ripley,  yesterday,  and 
am  waiting  here  to  catch  a  boat  that  will  take  me  down  to  St. 
Louis  before  the  river  closes.  I  found  our  friends  well,  and 
as  glad  to  see  me  as  if  they  had  had  time  to  choose  to  be  glad 
beforehand.  I  spent  two  very  lively,  happy  days  with  them, 
visiting  as  fast  as  possible,  and  then  took  my  flight  again  like 


270  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

a  bird  of  passage  for  a  warmer  clime.  I  started  down  the 
river  in  a  bark  canoe ;  but  betook  myself  to  the  land  on  the 
second  day,  to  meet  and  weather  a  tremendous  snow-storm, 
which,  as  like  as  not,  if  I  had  kept  the  water,  I  should  not 
have  weathered  at  all.  By  -  the  -  way,  the  sea  phrase,  "  to 
weather  a  storm,"  is  specially  appropriate  here  to  a  battle  with 
the  snow  on  a  prairie,  which  is  being  out  at  sea,  in  fact,  on 
IjiikJ — a  vast  platitude  of  desolation,  trackless,  shoreless,  boom- 
ing to  the  winds  like  the  ocean  itself.  .  .  .  There  is  one  thing 
I  iiave  meditated  much  since  I  left  home,  namely,  the  possi- 
bility that  a  new  field  may  be  opened  in  this  truly  divine  art 
of  music ;  that  song  may,  or  might,  become  ennobled,  and  en- 
ter into  the  world  as  a  kind  of  divine  power,  enlisted  in  the 
interest  of  virtue  and  religion.  That  a  lofty  and  great  soul, 
fired  with  the  eternal  inspirations  of  duty  and  truth,  could 
pour  itself  into  men's  bosoms,  and  become  a  spell  of  great  and 
holy  feeling  such  as  never  yet  has  been  exerted  by  any  mor- 
tal, I  cannot  doubt.  Oh  1  if  I  had  the  voice  and  art  of  Alboni 
or  Jenny  Lind,  it  really  seems  to  me  that  I  could  make  a  new 
gospel  of  it  in  men's  bosoms,  out-preaching  all  preachers,  and 
swaying  the  multitudes  to  good,  even  to  the  applause  of  good- 
ness itself,  as  a  kind  of  passion.  .  .  . 

To  his  Children. 

Galena,  November  13, 1852. 

Dear  M.  and  D., — This  is  for  you  both.  Yesterday  I  sent 
off  a  letter  to  your  dear  mother,  and  another  to  L ,  expect- 
ing last  evening  to  be  off  for  St.  Louis.  But  the  steamboats 
here  do  not  go  when  they  advertise,  but  heat  up  the  boilers, 
ring  the  bells,  and  call  the  passengers  on  board  before  anoth- 
er boat  arrives,  and  then  go  when  it  is  convenient — any  time 
within  two  days.  Probably  the  boat  that  advertised,  and 
tolled,  and  lighted  up  in  this  manner  for  last  evening,  will 
not  start  before  some  time  in  the  night  of  to-day  (Saturday). 
So  I  have  to  give  up  my  passage  to  avoid  breaking  the  Sab- 
bath, at  the  risk  of  being  frozen  in  here  before  another  boat 
arrives. 

I  told  L something,  I  hardly  remember  what,  of  the 


A  WINTER  NIGHT  IN  A  LOG-CABIN.  271 

story  of  a  lone  woman  that  liked  to  have  perished  on  the 
prairie  in  a  snow-storm.  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  hear 
more  of  the  particulars.  "Well,  in  coming  down  from  Fort 
Ripley,  a  week  ago  last  Friday,  it  began,  toward  evening,  to 
snow,  and  it  snowed  so  fast  and  the  wind  blew  so  hard,  and  it 
became  so  dark,  that  we  were  in  great  anxiety,  driver  and  all, 
lest  we  should  lose  our  way  on  the  prairie.  But  about  nine 
o'clock  in  tlie  evening,  in  a  howling  tempest,  we  reached  a 
log -hut  on  the  other  shore  of  the  prairie,  called  a  hotel. 
There  were  two  rooms  on  the  lower  floor,  one  a  bar-room 
and  guest-room,  with  a  box -stove  and  a  bed.     This  Lieut. 

F and  his  family,  who  had  got  in  from  below  before  us, 

had  taken  possession  of,  with  another  bed  spread  out  for  the 
children  among  piles  of  trunks  on  the  floor.  The  other  room 
had  a  cooking-stove,  with  two  beds  curtained  off  under  the 
stairs;  one  for  the  half-breed  Frenchman  and  his  white  Irish 
wife,  the  hosts,  and  another  for  what  other  man  or  woman  (in 
this  case  a  woman-passenger  with  us)  might  be  willing  to  sleep 
by  their  side.  There  was  the  dining-table,  the  face-washing, 
the  dish -washing,  the  cooking  with  green  birch -wood,  the 
wind  blowing  through  the  chinks  of  the  logs  to  ventilate, 
and  the  snow  falling  through  the  roof  and  running  down 
the  stove-pipe  to  moisten  the  air.  I  took  no  supper;  my 
stomach  was  not  quite  made  up  for  it  yet.  In  the  morning 
I  furnished  a  cold  breakfast  of  roast  chicken  and  bread-and- 
butter  from  Aunt  K 's  store,  put  up  for  my  passage  down 

the  river.  When  it  came  time  to  go  to  bed,  I  asked  if  I 
could  have  a  bed,  and  went  up  into  the  garret  to  find  how 
the  afiirmative  answer  would  turn  out.  "  Dere,"  said  the 
Frenchman,  "  you  can  sleep  with  dat  man,"  pointing  to  some 
unknown  body  rolled  up  there  for  the  night.  I  respectfully 
declined.  Then  he  went  to  another  unknown,  upon  another 
of  the  two  beds,  and  made  him  get  up  and  cross  over  to  mate 
with  the  one  first  named,  and  then,  as  if  the  difficulty  was 
conquered  by  his  extreme  politeness,  offered  me  the  vacated 
straw  ready  warmed.  This  also  I  declined.  Then,  with  my 
overcoat  on  and  my  boots,  I  spread  a  buffalo-robe  on  the  floor, 
with  a  pillow,  dirty  or  clean,  of  oat-chaff,  and  rolling  myself 


272  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

up  with  two  blankets  more  on  top  went  to  sleep.  In  two 
hours  more  the  fires  had  gone  out  below.  I  waked  shivering 
and  chattering  with  cold ;  for  though  I  was  covered  on  top, 
I  found  there  was  an  under-side  that  could  be  cold  too.  Then 
I  got  up,  struck  a  light,  doubled  a  blanket  and  put  it  under 
me,  and  made  another  trial,  but  I  could  not  get  warm.  After 
five  more  mortal  hours  of  chattering  and  shaking,  till  I  could 
endure  it  no  longer,  I  jumped  up,  and  found  a  light  stream- 
ing up  through  cracks  of  the  loose  board  floor,  and  went  down 
to'  blow  and  fuss  with  the  Frenchman  at  kindling  his  green 
birch  cooking-stove  fire,  right  glad  of  the  chance.  The  snow- 
storm was  too  violent  for  us  to  leave;  for  we  had  now  a 
second  prairie  before  us,  eighteen  miles  across,  without  a 
house  of  any  kind.  About  ten  o'clock  two  Indians  came  in, 
telling  us  by  signs  of  a  white  woman  on  the  prairie  perishing 
with  cold.  We  sent  out  our  wagon  immediately  with  two 
men  to  bring  her  in.  They  found  her  sitting  with  her  back 
against  a  tree  (a  few  of  which  there  are  on  the  near  end  of 
the  prairie).  She  refused  to  go  with  them,  too  cold  to  be 
sensible  of  her  condition ;  whereupon  they  lifted  her  into  the 
wagon,  rolled  her  up  in  blankets,  and  shortly  we  saw  the 
wagon  coming  full  drive,  with  a  high  pile  of  blankets  in  the 
bottom.  We  got  her  immediately  to  the  fire,  pulled  off  her 
stockings  (she  had  no  shoes  on),  and  found  her  feet  red  with 
the  blood  still  in  action.    It  turned  out  that  she  was  a  woman 

whom  Lieut.  F 's  maid  saw  in  St.  Anthony's,  two  days 

before,  hunting  for  a  place.  There  she  heard  of  a  place  at 
an  Indian  trader's,  at  Sauk  Eapids,  eighty  miles  above,  and 
was  off  on  foot,  with  her  heavy  bundle,  to  seize  upon  her 
chance.  Lieut.  F passed  her  yesterday  morning  tramp- 
ing on,  barefoot,  and  offered  to  carry  her,  then  to  convey  her 
bundle ;  both  of  which  she  declined,  saying,  "  It  will  trouble 
you."  She  was  comfortably  dressed,— only  she  had  lost  her 
white  sun -bonnet  in  the  night, — the  most  athletic,  physi- 
cally capable  looking  woman  it  was  ever  my  fortune  to 
see.  She  said  she  was  a  Lancashire  emigrant;  and  I  sup- 
pose, the  poor  creature  had  come  over  the  ocean,  pressing 
on  half  across  the  continent  into  this  far-off  region,  hunting 


A  PERISHING  EMIGRANT.  273 

all  the  way  for  a  place,  having,  probably,  no  sufficient  skill 
to  fill  one ;  and  now  she  was  on  the  gallop,  rushing  into  the 
storm's  face,  half  wild  with  despair,  to  seize  the  last  opportu- 
nity. I  told  her  she  ought  to  be  very  thankful  that  her  life 
was  spared ;  but  she  said  she  should  have  come  on,  admitting, 
however,  that  she  had  given  out  once  in  the  night  before. 
When  we  asked  her  why  she  did  not  stop,  she  said  she  had 
no  place  to  stop,  and  no  money.  It  turned  out  that  she  had 
travelled  that  day  forty-one  miles  with  her  pack,  eighteen  of 
them  across  a  prairie  in  a  most  terrible  snow-storm,  and  had 
eaten  nothing.    We  gave  her  food  ;  I  gave  her  money.    Lieut. 

F took  her  into  his  wagon  after  she  was  warmed,  and 

carried  her  on  to  her  place.  But  she  hardly  dared  to  thank 
us,  lest  she  should  seem,  apparently,  to  have  asked  a  favor. 
She  acted,  poor  creature,  as  if  she  had  never  had  a  kindness 
done  her  in  her  life,  and  did  not  know  how  to  take  it.  About 
twelve  o'clock  we  started  off,  to  plunge  our  way  across  the 
long,  trackless  praii*ie,  the  snows  drifting  and  the  winds  howl- 
ing still,  with  only  a  little  abatement  of  the  snow-fall.  We 
reached  our  next  stopping -place,  the  other  side  of  the  Big 
Meadow,  as  it  is  called,  in  the  evening.  And  there  we  found 
that,  having  seen  this  woman  go  by  at  dusk  in  the  beginning 
of  the  storm,  supposing  that  she  was  in  advance  of  some  wag- 
on (which,  however,  did  not  make  its  appearance),  they  con- 
cluded that  she  must  inevitably  perish,  and  fitted  out  a  team 
to  go  after  her  and  bring  her  in.  They  went  out  seven  miles 
on  the  prairie  with  lanterns,  got  lost  themselves,  and  finally 
returned,  concluding  that  she  must  be  left  to  her  fate. 

I  have  made  you  out  a  long  story,  children,  but  you  will 
see  in  it  what  rough  things  there  are  to  be  suffered  by  many 
poor  people  in  this  rough  world.  I  hope  that  God  will  make 
you  thankful  for  the  sweet  comforts  crowded  about  you,  and 
give  you  a  heart  to  be  as  merciful  as  you  ought  to  those  who 
have  none.    God  bless  you,  my  children.        Youk  Fathek. 

St.  Louis,  Missouri,  November  19, 1853. 
My  dearest  Wife, — I  can  hardly  tell  you  how  glad  I  am 
to  be  here,  for  I  have  been  dogged  by  snow-storms  all  the  way 


274:  LIFE  OF  PORACE  BUSHNELL. 

down,  encountering  one  more,  the  fourth,  and  a  very  heavy 
one,  between  Galena  and  this  place.  You  will  understand,  of 
course,  that  I  have  been  under  a  press  of  torturing  anxiety 
for  the  whole  two  weeks ;  for,  if  I  had  been  shut  in  by  ice, 
to  find  my  way  back  by  stage  travel,  you  can  hardly  conceive 
the  hardship  to  which  I  should  have  been  subjected, — the 
horrible  roads  which  are  no  roads,  the  horrible  rivers  which 
are  no  rivers,  and  the  snail-pace  motion  which  is  no  motion. 
It  would  have  taken  me  at  least  five  or  six  weeks  to  crawl 
the  distance  through,  if  I  had  lived  to  accomplish  a  task  so 
dreadful.  Let  us  thank  God,  then,  that  I  am  permitted  such 
a  release.  If  you  had  asked  me  yesterday  in  regard  to  my 
health,  I  should  have  had  no  very  pleasant  answer  to  give ; 
but  to-day,  after  a  whole  ten  hours'  sleep,  I  am  a  good  deal 
better,  and  to-morrow  I  hope  even  to  be  much  further  ad- 
vanced, perhaps  to  be  quite  myself  again  ;  for  I  feel  that  my 
soul  is  diverted  most  efl^ectually  from  all  which  has  worn  it 
in  months  past,  and  my  body,  apart  from  the  jaded  and  clum- 
sy feeling  of  hardship  encountered,  is  consciously  more  robust 
and  sturdy.  We  shall  leave  here,  on  our  return,  on  Monday 
or  Tuesday  of  the  next  week,  to  stop  in  Cincinnati  over  the 
Sunday  following. 

I  found  two  letters  here  waiting  for  me,  and  right  glad  was 
I  to  get  them.  I  cannot  tell  you  what  joy  it  gave  me  to  hear 
the  news  you  rej^ort  concerning  the  church, — the  day  prayer- 
meeting,  and  the  Thursday  evening  prayer-meeting.  Oh,  I 
thank  God  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart  for  his  unspeakable 
goodness  in  this.  I  could  not  have  hoped  for  anything  so 
good.  Eeally  it  seems  as  if  I  had  been  sent  away  for  no 
other  reason  than  to  have  my  absence  turned  to  an  account 
so  much  better  than  my  presence  could  be.  The  goodness  of 
God  to  us,  my  dear  wife,  in  the  steady  and  truly  Christian 
attachment  of  this  people,  and,  more  than  all,  in  their  fidelity 
also  to  the  cause  of  Christ  and  the  Christian  growth  of  their 
own  hearts,  is  affecting  to  me  beyond  expression.  It  seems 
as  if  God  was  determined  to  give  us,  in  the  desertion  of  many 
and  among  the  multitudes  of  gainsayers,  one  green  spot,  at 
the  least,  for  our  comfort ;  and  that  spot,  blessed  be  his  name, 


LETTERS.  275 

not  away,  not  afar  off,  as  in  the  case  of  Edwards,  but  close  at 
hand  and  immediately  about  us ;  so  that  if  the  circumference 
is  a  fire,  the  centre  may  be  a  fountain  and  a  spot  for  rest.  I 
was  very  sorry  that  the  letter  I  wrote  tliem  was  no  better 
worthy  of  them  and  the  subject.  But  it  was  what  I  could 
afford  at  the  time,  in  my  jaded  and  fevered  state. 

Ciucinnati,  December  3,  1853. 

I  arrived  here  on  Tuesday  morning,  and  yesterday  morn- 
ing the  C s  left  me  behind  and  took  their  leave.     I  was 

strongly  inclined  to  go  with  them,  and  my  heart  did  quite  set 
off,  but  my  grosser  part  remained  behind  for  a  little  later  con- 
veyance. If  the  part  in  advance  arrives  and  taps  at  the  win- 
dow, I  hope  you  will  let  the  poor  thing  in,  and  give  it  all 
needed  hospitality. 

I  am  glad  that  you  have  had  the  pleasure  of  a  call  from 
Mr.  Finney.  I  know  not  how  it  is,  but  I  feel  greatly  drawn 
to  this  man,  despite  of  the  greatest  dissimilarity  of  tastes  and 
a  method  of  soul,  whether  in  thought  or  feeling,  wholly  un- 
like. I  said  I  knew  not  how,  but  I  do  know.  It  is  because  I 
find  God  with  him,  and  consciously  receive  nothing  but  good 
and  genuine  (he  would  say  honest)  impressions  from  him. 

You  can  hardly  imagine  how  strongly  I  feel  jnyself  drawn 
homeward.  It  seems  as  if  I  had  been  absent  longer  than  when 
I  was  in  Europe.  .  .  . 

How  great  a  thing  it  is  to  be  thus  united  in  the  changeless 
and  pure  answer  of  the  inmost  love,  that  which  can  bear  and 
forbear,  and  help,  and  struggle  in  two,  as  against  their  ad- 
mitted and  common  imperfections !  Oh  what  a  blessed  and 
complete  union  will  two  such  find  when  they  come  out  to- 
gether, in  the  white  of  a  perfect  and  clean  state,  to  participate 
in  the  common  triumph  of  their  warfare!  Let  it  be  our  chief 
thing,  for  the  rest  of  life,  to  stimulate  and  help  eacli  other, 
and  fulfil  the  common  errand  God  has  given  us.  Bless  the 
dear  children  for  me. 

Niagara  Falls,  December  11,1853. 

To-day  I  have  been  occupied  in  re-viewing  the  Falls,  and 
feel  amply  repaid  for  the  hours  I  have  spent  in  going  over 


276  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

these  scenes  of  nature's  grandeur  for  tlie  third  time.  I  was 
never  so  deeply  impressed  by  them  before.  It  seemed,  as  I 
came  upon  them  purposely  from  a  new  point,  that  I  had 
never  before  got  their  measures.  I  had  sometimes  felt  a 
little  disposition  to  criticise  them  or  speak  of  their  defects. 
God  forgive  me  that  I  could  have  indulged  myself,  I  will 
not  say  in  so  high  an  affront,  but  in  a  conceit  so  weak  and 
contemptible.  I  used  to  think,  and  sometimes  to  say,  that 
the  shores  were  bad,  the  surroundings  destitute  of  interest 
and  character.  Destitute  of  interest !  As  if  there  needed  to 
be  some  fine  surrounding,  some  beautiful  framework,  about 
Niagara  to  set  it  off!  No,  with  reverence  be  it  spoken,  it 
might  as  well  be  conceived  that  the  Maker  on  his  tlirone  re- 
quired some  parliament,  or  body-guard,  or  high  court  of  di- 
vinities round  him  to  set  off  his  majesty  and  invest  his  God- 
head with  dignity.  No,  I  say  again,  Niagara  is  a  power  that 
forbids  and  scorns  all  surroundings ;  greatest  in  the  fact  that 
it  is  the  one  scene  of  God's  creation  that  suffers  no  adjuncts 
and  will  coalesce  with  none, — cries  "Away!"  to  them  all,  as 
trifles  that  insult  the  majesty  they  might  come  to  garnish. 
True,  it  is  only  a  magnificent,  mechamcal  pour  off  one  higher 
shelf  of  the  world  upon  another  which  is  lower.  But  it  wears 
well  notwithstanding.  It  is  so  great  in  itself,  and  magnifies 
so  wonderfully  the  revelation  of  its  grandeur,  that  it  finally 
conquers,  and  compels  us  at  last  to  say,  "  There  is  nothing 
like  it,  nothing  of  magnificence  to  class  with  it."  The  more 
bald  it  is  in  the  matter  of  surroundings,  the  more  magnifi- 
cent, the  better  we  like  it.  Oh  this  pouring  on,  on,  on, — 
exhaustless,  ceaseless,  like  the  counsel  itself  of  God,  —  one 
ocean  plunging  in  solemn  repose  of  continuity  into  another; 
the  breadth,  the  height,  the  volume,  the  absence  of  all  fiuster, 
as  when  the  floods  lift  up  their  waves ;  the  self-confidence  of 
the  preparation,  as  grand  in  the  night  when  no  eye  sees  it  as 
in  the  day ;  still  bending  itself  downward  to  the  plunge,  as  a 
power  that  is  the  same  yesterday,  to-day,  and  forever ;  want- 
ing no  margin  of  attractions  to  complement  the  scene  it 
makes ;  making,  in  fact,  no  scene,  but  doing  a  deed  which  is 
enough  to  do,  whether  it  is  seen  or  not !     Yerily,  my  soul  rev- 


LETTERS.  277 

elled  within  me  to-day,  as  never  since  I  was  a  conscious  be- 
ing, in  the  contemplation  of  this  tremendous  type  of  God's 
eternity  and  majesty.  I  could  hardly  stand,  such  was  the 
sense  it  gave  me  of  the  greatness  of  God.  . . . 

How  little  do  we  know  as  yet,  my  dearest  eartldy  friend,  of 
what  is  contained  in  the  word  God!  We  put  on  great  mag- 
nifiers in  the  form  of  adjectives,  and  they  are  true ;  but  the 
measures  they  ascribe,  certified  by  the  judgment,  are  not  real- 
ized, or  only  dimly  realized,  in  our  experience.  I  see  this 
proved  to  me,  now  and  then,  by  the  capacity  I  have  to  think 
and  feel  greater  things  concerning  God.  It  is  as  if  my  soul 
were  shut  in  within  a  vast  orb  made  up  of  concentric  shells 
of  brass  or  iron.  I  could  hear,  even  when  I  was  a  child,  the 
faint  ring  of  a  stroke  on  the  one  that  is  outmost  and  largest 
of  them  all ;  but  I  began  to  break  through  one  shell  after  an- 
other, bursting  every  time  into  a  kind  of  new,  and  wondrous, 
and  vastly  enlarged  heaven,  hearing  no  more  the  dull,  close 
ring  of  the  nearest  casement,  but  the  ring,  as  it  were,  of  con- 
cave firmaments  and  third  heavens  set  with  stars;  till  now, 
so  gloriously  has  my  experience  of  God  opened  his  greatness 
to  me,  I  seem  to  have  gotten  quite  beyond  all  physical  im- 
ages and  measures,  even  those  of  astronomy,  and  simply  to 
think  God  is  to  find  and  bring  into  my  feeling  more  than 
even  the  imagination  can  reach.  I  bless  God  that  it  is  so. 
I  am  cheered  by  it,  encouraged,  sent  onward,  and,  in  what  he 
gives  me,  begin  to  have  some  very  faint  impression  of  the 
glory  yet  to  be  revealed. 

I  shall  leave  Brockport  on  Monday  morning,  stay  at  Albany 
overniglit,  and,  if  our  good  Father  who  has  kept  me  so  kind- 
ly hitherto  will  suffer  it,  I  design  to  be  with  you  about  two  or 
three  o'clock  on  Tuesday.  Is  it  possible?  What  do  you  think 
of  it  %  Have  we  so  great  a  joy,  my  dear  wife,  so  xjlose  at  hand  ? 
Let  it  be  a  joy  baptized  in  our  faith,  our  spiritual  oneness  and 
purity,  as  the  loving  children  of  God, — that  God  who  is  best 
satisfied  with  us  when  he  finds  that  he  has  set  us  deepest  in 
the  eternity  of  love.  Till  then,  with  a  father's  blessing  on 
the  dear  children,  I  am. 

Yours  ever,  H.  Bushnell. 


278  LirE  OF   HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

Were  we  commissioned  to  choose  one  expression  of  himself 
which  should  convey  the  inner  story  of  Horace  Bushnell's  life, 
it  should  be  that  paragraph  in  the  preceding  letter  beginning 
"  How  little  do  we  know."  It  is,  in  brief,  all  he  could  have 
given  us  in  an  autobiography. 


SERMON  REVIEWING   HIS  PASTORATE.  279 


CHAPTER  XIY. 

1853. 
REVIEW  OF  DR.  BUSHNELL'S  PASTORATE. 

DuEiNG  the  years  wlien  writing  for  publication  and  the  con- 
sequent controversy  were  absorbing  so  much  of  Dr.  BushnelTs 
time  and  attention,  we  must  not  conclude  that  his  pastoral  re- 
lations or  work  became  less  important  to  him.  Indeed,  some 
of  the  latest  letters  have  expressed  his  longing  to  devote  him- 
self more  quietly  and  entirely  to  work  among  his  beloved 
people.  The  consciousness  of  a  constantly  diminishing  fund 
of  physical  power  may  have  heightened  his  desire  to  nse  his 
present  opportunities  of  personal  influence  to  the  ntmost.  In 
the  year  1853,  having  then  been  twenty  years  pastor  of  the 
North  Church  in  Hartford,  he  preached,  on  the  anniversary 
of  his  settlement,  a  commemorative  sermon.  As  this  is  a 
review  of  his  whole  ministry  np  to  that  time,  large  extracts 
from  it  are  given  here,  one  having  already  appeared  in 
Chap.  V. 

"...  On  this  22d  clay  of  May,  just  twenty  years  ago,  I  •was  set  in  cliarge 
as  i^astor  of  this  flock  and  teacher  of  this  Christian  congregation.  It 
would  be  too  much  to  say  that  I  have  seen  nothing  in  you  to  blame  or 
reprove.  Had  you  attained  to  any  such  perfection,  tliere  would  have 
been  nothing  here  for  me  to  do,  or,  if  anytliiug,  that  which  only  some 
angelic  ministry  -woukl  be  high  enough  in  quality  to  perform.  But  it 
is  much  to  say  that  I  have  never  seen  the  first  day  of  regret  on  account 
of  my  settlement ;  more  to  say  that  my  attachment  to  you  has  been 
strengthened  every  year  by  your  uniform  kindness  and  fidelity  ;  and  yet 
more,  as  regards  my  own  Ciiristian  satisfaction,  that  my  conviction  has 
been  more  and  more  confirmed  that  I  am  placed  among  you  by  the  call 
of  God,  here  and  nowhere  else  to  fulfil  the  particular  errand  for  which  I 
was  sent  into  the  world.  No  pastor  was  ever  happier  in  his  relations  to 
his  people,  or  had  ever  greater  reason  to  thank  God  always,  upon  every 

19 


V 


280  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

remembrance  of  their  patience  with  him  and  their  fellowship  with 
him  in  his  official  burdens.  I  think  there  has  been  something  peculiar 
in  the  cementing  process  by  which  we  have  been  so  firmly  united.  We 
seem  to  have  been  led  along  by  the  good  hand  of  God  through  all  our 
changes,  and  to  have  grown  together  under  him, — shall  I  not  also  say  in 
him  ? .  .  . 

"  Considering  the  very  decided  difference  of  sentiment  I  found  among 
you  at  the  time  of  my  settlement,  many  will  scarcely  be  able  to  conceive 
the  uniform  comfort  of  my  position.  It  would  generally  be  called  a  criti- 
cal position;  and  yet  I  have  never  once  had  the  sense  of  anything  criti- 
cal in  it,  so  entirely  have  I  been  at  my  ease  from  the  first  day  until 
now.  .  .  .  Indeed,  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  somewhat  equal  division  of 
sentiment  I  found  among  you,  my  position  would  have  been  much  more 
difficult  than  it  was.  I  was  not  prepared  to  fill  a  place  where  it  was 
expected  of  me  to  be  the  adherent,  and  square  my  teachings  by  the 
expectation  of  any  one  school.  I  had  no  such  implicit  admiration,  at 
the  time,  of  what  is  called,  distinctively.  New  England  theology,  as 
would  suffer  me  to  be  enrolled  among  its  avowed  partisans.  And  pre- 
cisely this  fiict  qualified  me  the  better  for  a  place  where  I  had  opposing 
schools,  on  the  right  and  left,  to  shield  my  position  by  a  mutual  balance 
of  each  other. 

"Besides,  I  was  just  then  passing  into  the  vein  of  comprehensiveness, 
questioning  whether  all  parties  were  not  in  reality  standing  for  some  one 
side  or  article  of  the  truth;  prepared  in  that  manner  to  be  at  once  inde- 
pendent of  your  two  parties  and  the  more  cordial  to  both,  that  I  was  be- 
ginning to  hold,  under  a  different  resolution  of  the  subjects,  all  that  both 
parties  were  contending  for.  INIy  position  among  you  kept  me  always 
in  living  contact  with  the  opposite  poles  to  be  comprehended,  and  as- 
sisted me,  by  an  external  pressure,  in  realizing  more  and  more  distinctly 
what  I  was  faintly  conceiving  or  trying  to  elaborate  within ;  till,  finally, 
my  question  became  a  truth  experimentally  proved,  and  I  rested  in  the 
conviction  that  the  comprehensive  method  is,  in  general,  a  possible,  and, 
so  far,  the  only  Christian  method  of  adjusting  theologic  differences 

"  Accordingly,  the  effect  of  my  preaching  never  was  to  overthrow  one 
school  and  set  up  the  other;  neither  was  it  to  find  a  position  of  neutrali- 
ty midway  between  them  ;  but,  as  far  as  theology  is  concerned,  it  was  to 
comprehend,  if  possible,  the  truth  contended  for  in  both ;  in  which  I 
had,  of  course,  abundant  practice  in  the  subtleties  of  speculative  lan- 
guage, but  had  the  Scriptures  always  with  me,  bolting  out  their  free,  in- 
cautious oppositions,  regardless  of  all  subtleties.  Having  it  for  a  law 
never  to  act  on  the  policy  of  concealment  or  suppression  for  the  sake  of 
peace,  in  respect  to  any  subject  in  which  I  was  ripe  enough  for  a  declara- 
tion, I  took  my  stand  openly  on  all  the  vexed  questions,  preaching  both 
sides ;  or  rather  showing,  in  effect,  that  if  both  were  to  condense  all  they 
hold  into  one  faith,  they  would  probably  not  have  any  too  large  a  faith 


COMPREHENSIVENESS.  281 

to  be  Christian.  But  as  all  the  language  apiDlicable  to  the  subjects  in 
question  was  preoccupied  by  the  former  uses,  and  the  much  debated  sub- 
tleties of  our  New  England  rationalism,  I  had  many  difficulties  in  mak- 
ing myself  intelligible.  The  two  parties  heard  me,  as  it  were,  across  the 
fence,  and  the  main  question  appeared  for  a  long  time  to  be,  not  what  I 
was  teaching,  but  on  which  side  I  was.  If  I  preached  a  sermon,  for  ex- 
ample, that  turned  more  especially  on  the  absolute  dependence  of  sinners, 
or  tlieir  inability  apart  from  God,  to  renew  and  sanctify  themselves,  the 
Old  -  School  hearers,  taken  by  the  sound  of  certain  right  words  and 
phrases  which  I  must  use,  of  course,  but  having  no  care  to  follow  the 
arguments  and  explanations  by  which  alone  tlieir  meaning  was  deter- 
mined, put  on  a  look  of  visible  satisfaction,  which  seemed  to  say, '  We 
have  him  with  us.'  If  I  preached  a  sermon  that  called  to  action,  assert- 
ing a  complete  power,  under  God,  to  cast  off  sin  and  be  renewed  in  right- 
eousness, my  New-School  hearers  were  sure  that  it  was  right ;  for  the 
main  thing  cared  for  by  them  was,  not  so  much  any  i^oint  of  theory  as 
that  men  should  not  be  shut  up  in  sin,  to  wait  for  some  prevenient 
grace  that  God's  sovereignty  may  never  bestow.  ...  To  make  myself 
intelligible  at  once  to  both  parties  was  difficult,  for  the  reasons  already 
assigned ;  but  I  was  able,  in  general,  to  retain  your  coufidencp.  In  this 
I  had  no  difficulty  except  ujDon  the  Old-School  side ;  for  with  them  it 
was  a  point  not  merely  to  resist  the  new  theology  of  the  day,  but,  as  by 
a  kind  of  necessary  implication,  to  see  that  nothing  was  varied  from  the 
manner  and  form  in  which  they  had  been  taught ;  and  they  were  not 
easily  satisfied,  even  if  the  variation  took  them  backward  towards  a  more 
genuine  antiquity.  Though  even  this  jealousy  of  variation,  I  am  certain, 
would  never  have  made  even  one  of  them  restive,  had  there  been  no  in- 
stigators of  suspicion  without,  actuated  themselves  by  rumor  and  hear- 
say, to  disturb  the  impressions  otherwise  received  under  the  unobstruct- 
ed teachings  of  my  ministry.  As  it  was,  I  had  always  my  strong  per- 
sonal friends  and  confidants,  even  among  the  pillars  of  their  side.  In- 
deed, I  had  a  certain  peculiar  sympathy  with  the  style  of  piety  in  the 
Old-School  brethren,  especially  in  all  the  points  wliere  it  was  contrast- 
ed with  the  flashiness  of  a  super-active,  all-to-do  manner,  such  as  then 
distinguished  the  movement  party  of  the  times.  I  loved  their  deep- 
drawn  sentiments,  and  the  sense  of  God  that  reverberated  in  their 
Christian  expressions.  I  was  drawn  to  their  prayers,  and  to  them  per- 
sonally by  their  prayers ;  and  it  has  always  been  my  conviction  that  if 
they  had  been  a  little  more  Old-School,  if  they  had  been  able  to  com- 
IDrehend  in  their  antiquity  more  than  one  century,  they  would  have 
been  as  much  drawn  to  me  as  I  was  to  them.  But  a  few  became  satis- 
fied that  I  was  not  exactly  in  what  they  took  for  the  Old  (viz.,  the  'New 
Light'  metaphysical)  theology  in  which  they  had  been  trained,  grew 
more  uncomfortable  as  they  were  more  set  upon  from  without,  and  with- 
drew ;  not  in  any  manner  of  protest  or  disaffection,  but  silently,  as  con- 


2S2  LIFE  OF   HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

nected  -with  a  change  of  residence,  or  with  only  some  temperate  avowals 
of  dissatisfaction.  Others,  who  had  breadth  enough  to  allow  some  varia- 
tions of  form  when  the  substance  was  so  manifestly  jireserved,  stood  by 
me  firmly  to  their  death ;  and  others  still  remain,  doubly  endeared  to 
me  by  the  persistency  of  their  confidence. 

It  is  also  my  happiness  that,  in  the  process  by  which  these  dissentient 
feelings  have  been  liquidated,  I  have  never  had  a  controversy  with  any 
individual,  never  received  a  harsh  word,  whatever  may  have  been  said 
about  or  against  me  to  others,  never  been  upon  any  footing  of  personal 
relationship  but  tliat  of  cordiality  and  outward  respect — a  fact  the  more 
remarkable,  and  worthier  to  be  commemorated  with  thanksgiving,  that 
I  have  been  so  much  assailed  by  charges  and  imputations  from  without, 
that  would  naturally  turn  the  confidence,  and  about  as  certainly  loosen 
the  ill-nature,  of  a  people  not  ingrafted  into  Christ  and  fortified  against 
the  power  of  man.  Surely  God  has  led  us  on,  my  brethren,  through  these 
eventful  years  and  changes,  and  to  him  be  the  praise  that  we  are  here  to- 
day, a  strong,  united,  happy  flock,  cemented  in  love  by  the  works,  the 
fiiith,  the  prayers,  the  dangers  we  have  shared. 

"I  have  spoken  thus  far  of  my  ministry  as  related  to  difficulties  exist- 
ing in  your  previous  divisions  of  sentiment  among  yourselves.  Other 
points  of  difficulty  have  arisen  that  might  easily  have  terminated  in  dis- 
aster. On  the  outbreak  of  the  Slavery  question,  you  'fell  into  a  place 
wdiere  two  seas  met,'  and  for  a  few  days  it  really  seemed  quite  possible 
that  you  might  founder  there ;  but  you  rode  the  storm  through  safely, 
and  parted  no  seam  of  unity. 

"Afterwards  I  preached  a  fast-day  sermon,  showing  that  'politics  are 
imder  the  law  of  God.'  Wise  or  unwise  in  the  manner,  it  was  greatly 
offensive  to  some,  but  the  offence  was  soon  forgiven ;  in  consideration,  I 
suppose,  of  the  fact  that,  apart  from  the  manner,  the  doctrine  was  abun- 
dantly wanted,  and  even  solemnly  true. 

"  The  only  difticulty  I  have  ever  encountered  in  my  ministry,  that  cost 
me  a  real  and  deep  trial  of  feeling,  related  to  the  matter  of  evangelist 
preachers,  and  what  may  be  called  the  machinery  system  of  revivals. 
Things  had  come  to  such  a  pitch  in  the  churches,  by  the  tensity  of  the 
revival  system,  that  the  iDcrmauent  was  sacrificed  to  the  casual,  the  or- 
dinary swallowed  up  and  lost  in  the  extraordinary,  and  Christian  piety 
itself  reduced  to  a  kind  of  campaigning  or  stage-effect  exercise.  The 
spirit  of  the  pastor  was  broken,  and  his  powers  crippled  by  a  lack  of  ex- 
pectation ;  for  it  was  becoming  a  fixed  impression  that  eflect  is  to  be 
looked  for  only  under  instrumentalities  that  are  extraordinary.  He  was 
coming  to  be  scarcely  more  than  a  church  clock  for  beating  time  and 
marking  the  years,  wiiile  the  effective  ministry  of  the  word  was  to  be 
dispensed  by  a  class  of  professed  revivalists.  It  was  even  difficult  for 
the  pastor,  saying  nothing  of  conversions,  to  keep  alive  in  Christians 
themselves  any  hope  or  expectation  of  holy  living,  as  an  abidiug  state, 


THE  SUBJECT  OF  REVIVALS.  283 

in  tlie  intervals  of  public  movement  and  excitement  left  to  his  care ;  be- 
cause everything  was  brought  to  the  test  of  the  revival  state  as  a  stand- 
ard, and  it  could  not  be  conceived  how  any  one  might  be  in  the  Spirit, 
and  maintain  a  constancy  of  growth,  in  the  calmer  and  more  private 
methods  of  duty,  patience,  and  fidelity,  on  the  level  of  the  ordinary  life. 
Others  felt  the  mischiefs  accruing  to  the  cause  of  religion  as  I  did,  and 
remained  silent.  I  took  my  ground,  cautiously  as  I  knew  how,  and 
spoke  my  convictions.  The  result  was  painful  for  a  time ;  not  because 
any  storm  was  raised,  but  because  of  the  very  great  ditticulty  I  found  in 
making  my  position  understood  and  appreciated,  and  because  many  ap- 
peared to  be  perplexed  or  embarrassed  in  their  prayers,  as  if  able  to  be 
sure  no  longer  of  any  practical  way  of  advance  or  success.  .  .  . 

"  My  sole  object  was  to  raise  a  distinction  between  the  reviving  of  re- 
ligion when  it  wants  reviving,  and  a  religion  which  places  everything  in 
scenes  or  spiritual  campaigns,  and  tests  all  Christian  exercise  by  the  stand- 
ards of  the  extraordinary.  I  am  not  sure  that  I  have  ever  made  my  ob- 
ject entirely  clear.  Possibly  some  of  you  may  think  that  I  have  even  re- 
ceded from  the  ground  I  took.  And  yet  I  think  you  will  all  of  you  per- 
ceive that  the  type  of  your  religious  methods  and  impressions  is  some- 
how changed.  .  .  .  The  idea  of  a  casual  extraordinary  religion  is  gone  by. 
No  people  were  ever  more  firmly  rooted  in  the  conviction  that  Christian 
piety  is,  and  is  to  be,  an  abiding  grace,  and  fill  the  ordinary  life  with  all 
its  works — a  holy  experience,  a  divine  growth  in  tlie  soul,  a  life  hid  with 
Christ  in  God.  I  see  no  reason  to  believe  that  you  have  lost  anything, 
as  regards  the  number  of  conversions,  by  the  change  or  suspense  through 
which  you  have  passed,  and  I  cherish  the  delightful  confidence  that  you 
are  brought  on  thus  to  a  point  of  preparation  that  will  enable  you  here- 
after to  be  abundantly  more  fruitful  than  ever  before.  So  strong  is  my 
confidence  now  that  you  are  effectually  weaned  from  the  tendencies  I 
wished  to  correct,  and  immovably  fixed  in  the  faith  of  an  abiding  piety  as 
the  only  sound  reality  of  the  Christian  life,  that  I  should  not  hesitate,  in 
case  of  any  very  special  reason,  touching,  for  example,  the  fellowship  of 
the  churches,  to  invite  the  aid  of  an  evangelist  preacher,  as  I  have  done 
already,  with  no  effect  but  that  which  is  good. 

"But  I  have  had  relations  to  the  public  as  well  as  to  you,  and  the 
steadfastness  of  your  fellowship,  continued  from  the  first  day  until  now,  is 
even  more  conspicuous  here ;  for  it  is  my  privilege  here  also  to  say  with 
Paul  that,  in  the  defence  and  confirmation  of  the  Gospel,  ye  all  are  par- 
takers of  my  grace. 

"At  the  time  of  my  settlement,  I  came  near  l^eing  rejected  by  the 
council,  because  of  my  indefinite  and  unsatisfactory  answers  concerning 
infant  baptism.  They  finally  voted,  after  some  debate,  to  proceed,  in 
the  confidence  that  time  and  study  would  rectify  my  doubts.  The  result 
justified  their  expectation.  I  found,  after  a  considerable  period  of  sus- 
pense, that  I  had  wholly  misconceived  the  true  idea  of  Christian  nurt- 


28:1:  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

ure,  and  that  all  my  difRculties  witli  iuflint  baptism  had  originated  in 
this  misconception.  From  that  moment  my  faith  was  established.  Af- 
ter some  years  the  results  of  my  inquiries  were  given  to  the  public  in 
two  discourses  on  '  Christian  Nurture.'  These  discourses  were  immedi- 
ately assailed  as  a  fatal  heresy,  and  a  controversy  followed.  That  con- 
troversy is  over,  and  I  think  I  may  say  that  it  is  now  agreed  by  intelli- 
gent and  qualified  judges  that  I  had  really  done  nothing  more  than  to 
revive,  in  a  modern  shape,  the  lost  orthodoxy  of  the  Church.  .  .  . 

"At  a  later  period,*  when  it  had  just  now  pleased  God  to  conduct  me 
into  a  fuller  experience  of  divine  things,  and  to  open  my  spiritual  under- 
standing as  never  before  to  the  great  mysteries  of  godliness,  I  found  that 
certain  reserved  c^uestions,  before  dark  and  insoluble,  were  correspond - 
eutly  cleared.  The  veil  was  lifted,  and  the  difficulties  vanished,  never 
to  return.  Whereupon  I  was  not  disobedient  to  the  heavenly  vision; 
but  being  called,  immediately  after,  to  speak  on  these  very  subjects,  I 
did  so  without  hesitation,  and,  with  as  little,  gave  my  discourses  to  the 
public.  I  thought  I  had  spoken  the  truth.  I  am  more  and  more  sure 
that  I  had,  every  day  of  my  life. 

"  But  a  general  assault,  like  the  winds  from  the  four  quarters  of  heav- 
en, was  made  upon  my  doctrine  as  a  deadly  and  appalling  heresy,  and 
an  inquiry  was  immediately,  and  very  properly,  instituted  by  my  breth- 
ren, to  find  whether  such  allegations  were  true.  After  nearly  half  a  year 
of  careful  deliberation,  prepared  and  led  by  a  committee  comprising 
names  as  generally  known  and  as  highly  respected  as  any  in  the  Ameri- 
can churches,  my  Association,  fully  advertised  of  their  responsibility  by 
the  clamorous  impeachment  raised  in  every  quarter,  came  to  a  final 
vote,  seventeen  to  three,  that,  while  my  views  were  not  accepted  by 
the  body,  there  was  yet  discovered  in  them  no  such  evidence  of  heresy 
as  would  justify  any  further  process.  And  this,  according  to  our  plat- 
form, or  scheme  of  polity,  was  the  end  of  all  ecclesiastical  proceeding, 
without  a  subversion  of  order  itself,  unless  some  three  of  your  number 
could  be  found  to  sign  articles  of  impeachment  against  me  before  the 
Consociation  of  the  churches,  which  the  Association  of  ministers  had  al- 
ready voted  not  to  do. 

"  These  three  were  not  to  be  found  among  you,  or  any  one  of  them. 
The  commotion  without  had  raised  no  commotion  with  you.  Many 
looked  on  with  wonder,  as  upon  a  besieged  city,  to  see  you  unshaken, 
steadfast  still  in  your  confidence,  ruffled  by  no  concern,  and  not  even  so 
much  as  moved  to  break  silence.  Had  you  done  even  this,  it  would  have 
comforted  my  accusers,  and  weakened  the  dignity  both  of  your  position 
and  of  mine.  And  the  secret  of  all  this,  if  it  must  be  told,  is  that  God 
was  with  us,  and  that  no  position  is  weak  that  is  sheltered  by  the  peace 
of  God. 

*  A.D.  1848. 


WITHDRAWAL  OF  THE  CHURCH  FROM  CONSOCIATION.    2S5 

"Regretting  some  things  whicli  I  had  heretofore  published,  not  as  un- 
just to  others,  but  as  too  violent  in  the  manner  to  be  just  to  myself  and 
tlie  meekness  of  the  Christian  spirit,  I  had  determined,  from  the  first,  to 
have  no  controversy  over  these  discourses — a  determination  to  which  I 
have  resolutely  adhered,  though  perceiving,  every  day,  the  advantage 
taken  of  my  silence.  A  considerable  time  after  the  investigation  insti- 
tuted by  my  brethren,  I  concluded  that  it  might  be  my  duty  to  my 
friends  and  the  churches,  as  a  contribution  for  the  sake  of  peace,  and  not 
for  controversy,  to  publish  the  substance  of  my  argument  before  the  As- 
sociation, which  I  did  in  a  second  volume.  And  the  final  result  of  the 
whole  matter  in  issue,  I  think,  may  be  discovered  in  the  fact  that,  in- 
stead of  the  whole  bushel  of  attacks  on  my  first  volume  which  I  gath- 
ered up  a  few  days  ago,  no  one  article  of  review  or  hostile  criticism  has 
ever  to  this  hour  been  published  against  a  volume  quite  as  heretical  as 
the  first,  more  adequately  stated,  and  confirmed  iu  every  point  by  appeal 
to  the  accepted  standards  of  the  Church.  .  .  . 

"  Still,  a  degree  of  agitation  has  been  kept  up  against  me,  even  down 
to  the  last  year,  by  one  of  the  ecclesiastical  associations,  and  by  that 
body  before  the  General  Association  of  the  State ;  and  to  put  an  end  to 
this  agitation  by  the  shortest  and  most  sovereign  method,  you  were  final- 
ly induced  to  vote  a  withdrawment  from  the  Consociation ;  the  efi'ort  be- 
ing to  obtain  a  trial  before  that  body,  in  contempt  of  all  the  rules  of  or- 
der, by  pressing  my  Association  to  a  reconsideration  of  their  vote  and  a 
presentation  to  the  Consociation  for  trial,  against  tlieir  own  judgment,  on 
the  ground  of  external  dissatisfiiction.  For  this  vote  of  withdrawment 
you  have  been  stigmatized  by  a  vote  of  the  Consociation  itself,  impeach- 
ing your  motives,  and,  by  indirection,  me,  as  the  principal  mark  at  which 
their  vote  was  aimed. 

"  In  this  vote  of  withdrawment  I  had  myself  no  active  part.  The  same 
thing  had  been  suggested  many  times  before,  and  was  by  me  discour- 
aged. Now  I  concluded  to  let  it  i^ass  by  in  silence,  if  that  should  be 
your  will.  But  as  I  am  responsible,  in  a  degree,  for  my  silence,  and  as 
this  is  the  only  point  in  w'hich  I  have  any  way  participated  in  a  change 
that  affects  your  relations  to  your  brethren  without  and  to  the  otiier 
churches  of  the  commonwealth,  I  will  briefly  state  the  reasons  why  I  did 
not  exercise  the  detaining  influence  I  perhaps  might  have  exercised. 

"  First  of  all,  I  had  no  real  attachment  to  the  Consociation,  regarding 
it  as  an  appendage  to  the  Congregationalism  of  Connecticut,  wholly  pe- 
culiar and  really  more  Presbyterian  than  Congregational ;  also  as  a  body 
entirely  useless  in  the  matter  of  discipline,  and  since  it  is  only  assembled 
once  a  year,  to  occupy  two  whole  days  with  idle  formalities  in  which 
the  communion  of  the  Spirit  has  no  concern,  a  body  that  is  really  doing 
harm  to  the  cause  of  religion  by  the  low  impressions  it  makes  in  the 
places  where  it  is  held.  .  .  .  Meantime  it  was  clear  enough  that  you  had 
a  right  to  withdraw,  as  many  other  churches  had  done  before,  and  that 


286  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

in  doing  it  you  would  malvc  no  breach  of  Cbristian  fellowship  with  the 
sister  churches,  but  would  only  place  yourselves  on  a  common  footing 
v;itli  the  churches  of  New  Haven,  and  with  all  the  twenty-nine  unconsg- 
ciated  churches  of  the  State ;  the  same  footing,  indeed,  which  is  held  by 
all  the  Congregational  churches  of  New  England  and  of  the  world,  ex- 
cept the  consociated  churches  of  Connecticut.  Equally  clear  was  it  that 
I  had  no  right  to  subject  you  to  an  interminable  agitation  on  my  ac- 
count, and  that  you,  on  your  part,  had  a  right  to  terminate  perempto- 
rily the  annoyance  to  which  you  were  subjected,  by  withdrawing  me 
from  the  Consociation ;  provided  I  was  not  under  discijiline,  or  on  trial, 
or  in  the  near  prospect  of  a  legitimate  presentment  for  trial  before  the 
body.  .  .  .  Besides,  there  had,  in  fjict,  been  a  good  and  sufficient  trial  of 
the  whole  matter  of  my  heresy,  the  best  and  most  competent  which  it 
was  possible,  under  our  scheme  of  disciioline,  to  secure,  and  one  in  which 
the  public  have  the  best  possible  reason  to  be  satisfied. 

"  I  need  not  say  how  truly  I  regret  any  disturbance  of  your  relations 
to  other  churches  on  my  account.  More  than  all  do  I  regret  the  terms 
of  qualified  disfellowship  existing  between  you  and  some  of  the  sister 
churches  of  our  city — as  fit  subject  of  regret  and  Christian  sorrow,  as  if 
chargeable  to  no  other  cause  than  to  my  heresies.  .  .  . 

"  To  sum  up  all,  then,  brethren,  I  thank  my  God  upon  every  remem- 
brance of  you,  always  in  every  prayer  of  mine  for  you  all,  making  request 
with  joy  for  your  fellowship  in  the  Gospel  from  the  first  day  until  now. 
You  have  been  immovable  and  true  in  your  fidelity  to  me.  Assailed  by 
powerful  combinations,  you  have  never  lost  your  balance,  but  have  given 
an  example  of  patience,  moderation,  and  firmness,  in  which  I  must  do 
violence  to  my  Christian  feeling  as  a  pastor  not  to  offer  you  my  hearty 
congratulations.  You  have  never  been  a  captious  people.  It  is  a  long 
time  since  I  have  heard  any  complaint  of  my  i^reachiug  but  two :  one, 
that  I  preach  too  long  sermons,  which  is  sometimes  true ;  and  the  other, 
that  I  preach  Christ  too  much,  which  I  cannot  think  is  a  fault  to  be  re- 
pented of;  for  Christ  is  all,  and  beside  him  there  is  no  gosi^el  to  be 
preached  or  received.  Meantime  you  have  never  been  inattentive  to  my 
wants,  but  have  kept  me  always  on  the  sunny  side  of  comfort.  Three  times 
have  you  raised  my  salary  without  any  suggestion  from  me — from  twelve 
hundred  dollars  to  two  thousand  dollars.  A  few  mouths  after  you  had 
liquidated  your  debt  by  a  heavy  subscription,  when  my  health  was  fail- 
ing from  protracted  labor,  you  advanced  me  the  money  necessary  to  de- 
fray my  expenses  for  a  year  in  Europe,  continued  my  salary,  and  supplied 
the  pulpit  yourselves.  Again  you  did  the  same  the  last  year  during  mj- 
absence  of  mouths  in  a  journey  to  the  West,  not  to  speak  of  the  innumer- 
able tokens  of  interest  in  me  and  my  family  shown  by  methods  more 
2)rivate.  And,  Avhat  is  more  grateful  to  me  than  all  beside,  I  think  you 
have  endeavored  to  extract  some  spiritual  benefit  from  my  unworthy  and 
very  defective  ministry.     Nothing  has  ever  touched  my  heart  so  tender- 


HIS   DUTIES  FAITHFULLY  DISCHARGED.  2S7 

ly  as  to  hear,  in  ray  late  absence,  of  your  voluntary  meeting  for  prayer 
and  spiritual  communion  on  two  afternoons  of  the  week.  And  nothing 
tills  me  with  a  hope  so  exhilarating  for  the  good  future  to  come  as  the 
confidence  that  you  are  deeper  than  you  were  in  the  faith  of  Christ,  and 
readier  for  every  good  work  by  which  his  cause  may  be  advanced.  In 
short,  that  day  of  snow  and  storm  in  which  I  came  was  the  herald,  I 
have  found,  of  warmth  and  peace  in  all  the  days  to  come.  God  bless 
you,  my  dear  flock,  and  keep  you  as  he  has  done  hitherto,  in  all  the  ways 
of  truth  and  patience,  that  your  work  may  be  perfect  and  entire,  want- 
ing nothing. 

"I  wish  I  had  time  to  speak  of  the  defects  in  my  ministry,  which  I 
have  discovered  in  the  review  of  these  twenty  years.  But  these  I  must 
leave  with  God,  only  praying  that  he  will  pardon  them  for  the  past,  and 
help  me  to  mend  them  in  the  future. 

"  I  wish  it  were  possible,  also,  to  sjjeak  of  the  way  in  which  he  has  led 
me  on  out  of  the  clifficulties  and  reserved  questions  which  encompassed 
my  early  ministry.  I  will  only  say  that  Christianity  is  opened  to  me 
now  as  a  new  heaven  of  trutli,  a  supernatural  heaven,  wide  as  the  firma- 
ment, possible  only  to  faith,  to  that  luminous,  clear  and  glorious.  This 
one  thing  I  have  found,  that  it  is  not  in  man  to  think  out  a  gospel,  or  to 
make  a  state  of  light  by  phosphorescence  at  his  own  centre.  He  can 
have  the  great  mystery  of  godliness  only  as  it  is  mirrored  in  his  heart 
by  an  inward  revelation  of  Christ.  Do  the  will  and  you  shall  know  the 
doctrine — this  is  the  truth  I  have  proved  by  my  twenty  years  of  expe- 
rience." 

On  the  side  of  wliat  his  cliiircli  had  been  to  him  and  done 
for  him,  this  narrative  is  sufficiently  full,  but  it  is  necessari- 
ly incomplete  in  its  picture  of  the  work  he  had  been  doing 
among  his  people.  Another  reference  to  the  sketch  by  Mrs. 
Holley,  already  quoted,  will  help  to  supply  what  is  lacking 
here : — 

"The  pastoral  duties  of  Dr.  Bushnell  seemed  to  be  difficult  for  him  to 
discharge,  but  he  discharged  them  faithfully  and  fully  ;  and  in  later  years, 
when  his  ministrations  were  tempered  by  his  own  experiences,  his  sym- 
pathy was  as  delicately  and  gently  bestowed  as  it  had  ever  been  hearty 
and  sincere.  .  .  .  When  his  name  was  upon  all  lips,  and  in  the  zenith  of 
his  popularity,  few  knew  or  thought  how  his  heart  was  ever  at  work  for 
the  welfare  of  his  '  dear  people,'  or  with  what  patience  and  skill  he  was 
training  a  circle  of  young  men  especially,  who  were  to  be  a  source  of  joy 
to  him  in  his  later  years.  I  remember  his  sjieaking  of  one  who  had 
come  to  him  every  week  for  aid  in  ovei'coming  a  quick  temper,  and  of 
another  who  had  been  drawn  to  Christ  by  the  sermon  on  'The  Hunger 


288  I^IFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

of  the  Soul.'  This  youug  man,  ^\'lien  he  met  a  small  circle  the  following 
week,  was  called  upon  by  Dr.  B.  to  lead  in  prayer.  Those  few  hesitating 
sentences  were  the  bejinning,  but  the  end  has  been  a  life  fruitful  in  work 
for  the  Master. 

"  I  called  once  to  introduce  a  stranger,  a  lady  who  had  run  the  gaunt- 
let from  Quakerism  to  Catholicism  without  finding  any  satisfactory  rest- 
ing-place. After  tlie  usual  introductoiy  topics,  Dr.  B.  said, '  I  understand 
you  have  had  many  difficulties  upon  religious  subjects.'  She  replied, 
with  the  air  of  one  ready  for  combat,  '  Can  any  one  ever  be  settled  in 
opinion  V  Instead  of  entering  upon  controversy.  Dr.  Bushnell  faithfully 
and  kindly  pointed  her  to  the  need  of  a  firm  faith  in  a  personal  Christ, 
and  a  life  to  prove  the  sincerity  of  her  principles.  She  had  expected 
some  brilliant  flashes  of  genius,  but  received  a  better  gift  in  a  faithful 
pastor's  warning  and  advice. 

"  One  of  his  principal  characteristics  was  an  intense  activity  of  mind 
and  body.  His  power  of  execution  was  always  in  exercise.  Does  no 
one  remember  his  visiting  a  blind  man  one  cool  day  in  autumn,  and  find- 
ing the  poor  man  in  a  chill  because  no  one  could  be  found  to  put  up  his 
stove  ?  The  kind  pastor  soon  remedied  the  evil  by  putting  stove  and 
pipe  in  their  place,  and  left  the  room  warm  and  comfortable,  A  visitor 
to  Dr.  B.'s  family,  happening  to  come  in  their  absence,  found  him  plough- 
ing and  levelling  the  slope  al)out  his  Ann  Street  house,  while  the  owner 
of  the  plough  stood  by  in  w-ondering  admiration. 

"In  recalling  his  sermons,  a  tide  of  memories  come  back  to  me.  The 
one  on  '  Unconscious  Influence,'  since  so  well  known,  was  delivered  on  a 
beautiful  summer's  day  to  a  full  house,  and  made  a  great  impression.  A 
friend  who  was  with  us  said  '  she  was  not  a  free  moral  agent  for  five 
years  after  hearing  it.'  I  once  borrowed  the  manuscript,  and  though 
much  of  it  showed  careful  revision  and  frequent  amendment,  the  fine  pas- 
sage upon  the  powder  of  light  w\as  written  in  a  bold,  free  hand,  covering 
several  pages,  as  if  it  had  burst  at  once  into  the  writer's  mind,  and  was 
recorded  without  erasure  or  change. 

"  The  effect  of  such  intellectual  preaching  was  to  form  a  highly  criti- 
cal taste  among  some  of  his  hearers.  Dr.  B.  therefore  preached  a  sermon 
upon  '  Fastidiousness  in  Hearing  the  Word  of  God.'  Quite  a  circle  of 
his  personal  friends  and  admirers  supposed  themselves  addressed;  but 
the  preacher  himself  was  scarcely  prepared  for  the  thanks  of  a  plain 
countryman,  who  brought  him  pea-brush  for  his  garden:— 'I  felt  that 
that  sermon  was  intended  for  me.  I  was  getting  to  be  too  particular 
about  who  preached.'  A  member  of  another  church  heard  him,  one 
evening,  speak  informally  from  the  passage, '  Casting  all  your  care  on 
Him,  for  he  careth  for  you,'  and  said, '  Dr.  BushnelFs  preaching  always 
docs  me  good.  I  went  to  church  burdened  with  my  many  cares,  and 
now  they  are  all  lightened  or  taken  away.'  The  executive  power  of  his 
mind  was  shown  iu  his  sermons  on  special  subjects,  which  were  usually 


SEKMONS  AND   TEXTS.  2S9 

given  on  Thanksgiving  or  Fast  day.  Such  sermons  as  '  Prosperity  our 
Duty,' '  The  Day  of  Roads,'  and  others  of  Hke  character,  had  in  them  the 
prophetic  insight  that  only  genius  can  bestow.  His  political  prophecies 
have  been  wonderfully  realized  in  the  growth  of  our  AVestern  States  and 
the  moral  power  of  New  England.  The  sermon, '  Politics  under  the  Law 
of  God,'  made  a  great  stir  at  the  time.  A  sermon  upon  '  The  Employ- 
ments of  Heaven '  was  preached  to  his  own  people,  and  repeated  in  an- 
other church — I  think  in  Westfield,  Mass.  A  weary,  hard-working  wom- 
an was  heard*  to  say,  when  the  service  closed, '  Well,  if  heaven  is  such 
a  place  for  work,  I  don't  care  to  go  there ;  I  hoj^ed  I  should  rest.'  Dr.  B. 
himself  said,  as  his  strength  began  to  fail,  that  the  thought  of  rest  grew 
more  precious  to  him. 

"  Of  the  transition  of  his  teachings  from  the  deeply  intellectual  to  the 
elevated  and  emotional,  I  would  speak  with  reverence.  Sometimes  he 
came  before  us  with  a  face  so  pale  and  full  of  feeling,  that  it  seemed  as 
if  his  anguish  of  soul  and  strivings  for  a  higher  life  for  liimself  and  his 
people  would  overmaster  the  strength  of  his  body.  It  seemed  as  if  his 
heart  would  break  unless  we  would  all  receive  the  best  spiritual  gifts 
God  could  bestow.  Some  one  said, '  Dr.  B.  is  the  only  minister  I  hear  who 
prays;  others  tell  God  their  creeds  and  what  they  know,  —  he  pleads 
■U'ith  God  for  what  he  wants  and  needs.'  No  one  could  hear  him  speak 
upon  the  subject  of  prayer  without  feeling  that  he  knew,  from  his  own 
deepest  experience,  what  it  was  to  prevail  in  prayer." 

A  ministerial  friend,  among  other  interesting  reminiscences, 
gives  us  the  following,  which  is  quite  apropos  of  the  subject 
of  his  preaching : — "  He  had  wonderful  skill  in  getting  legiti- 
mately a  text  for  his  sermon,  just  where  nobody  else  would 
look  for  it,  as,  for  instance,  the  text  of  his  sermon  on  '  Uncon- 
scious Influence,' — '  Then  went  in  also  that  other  disciple.' 
At  the  time  when  the  doctrine  of  repudiation  was  rife,  he 
preached  on  that  subject;  his  text  was,  'Alas!  Master,  for  it 
was  borrowed.'  He  began  his  discourse  thus, — 'This  must 
have  been  an  industrious  man,  or  he  would  not  have  wanted 
an  axe ;  he  must  have  been  a  poor  man,  or  he  would  not  have 
needed  to  borrow^  it ;  he  must  have  been  an  honest  man,  or 
he  would  never  have  exclaimed,  Alas !  Master,  for  it  was  bor- 
rowed.' " 

Other  instances  might  be  quoted  in  abundance ;  but  a 
glance  at  his  books  of  sermons  will  tell  the  story.  A  relig- 
ious paper  says,  "  Good  Dr.  Bushnell  could  preach  more  of  a 
sermon  in  the  selection  of  a  text  than  any  ordinary  minister 


290  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

could  in  half  a  day's  discourse ;"  and  alludes  to  that  text  of  a 
sermon  to  business  men,  given  for  their  encouragement  in 
dark  days  of  financial  distress,  —  "And  when  the  ship  was 
caught  and  could  not  bear  up  into  the  wind,  we  let  her 
drive." 

One  of  the  very  few  friends  who  began  life  in  the  North 
Church  with  him  and  outlived  him,  having  but  lately  depart- 
ed, was  Thomas  Winship.  He  was  a  devout  man,  singularly 
refined  in  appearance  and  manner,  and  in  his  calling  as  a 
shoemaker  found  time  for  deep  study  of  spiritual  truth.  His 
deafness  did  not  prevent  his  presence  at  every  church  service, 
and  his  enjoyment  of  it  by  sympathy,  even  though  he  could 
not  hear  much  of  the  sermon.  The  luminous,  eager,  listen- 
ing expression  of  his  face  was  looked  for  always  by  the 
preacher  as  a  help,  and  the  faithfulness  of  the  hearer  met 
with  such  faithful  reward  as  the  following  extract  from  a 
letter  of  Mr.  Winship's  indicates:  —  "In  our  times  of  trial 
and  afiliction,  Dr.  Bushnell  would,  if  at  home,  be  sure  to  be 
on  hand;  and  those  seasons,  sometimes  of  long  continuance, 
were  frequent  with  me.  My  daughter,  after  several  severe 
illnesses,  was  at  last  a  confirmed  invalid,  confined  to  her  bed 
for  nearly  nine  years.  When  at  home,  he  used  always  to  call 
upon  her  once  every  week,  usually  on  Monday  morning.  It 
did  not  seem  to  me  possible  for  any  man  to  manifest  more 
tender  sympathy  and  care  for  her  spiritual  interests  than  he 
did.  He  was  always  faithful,  always  true,  to  me  and  mine." 
Another  invalid,  in  a  slow  decline,  was  visited  in  the  same 
faithful,  regular  way.  She  learned  to  expect  him  on  a  given 
day  and  hour ;  and  a  day  or  two  before  her  departure,  when 
the  strength  to  rise  was  gone,  she  insisted  on  being  lifted  and 
placed  in  her  accustomed  chair,  to  receive  him,  at  the  usual 
time.  She  '■'•'knew  he  would  come,"  and  she  was  not  disap- 
pointed. 

His  relations  to  the  young  people  who  came  to  his  church 
were  peculiarly  pleasant  on  both  sides.  Sometimes  a  timid 
young  man  would  be  alarmed  at  the  abruptness  of  his  first 
greeting,  but  generally  found  that  there  were  no  formidable 
barriers  to  confidence,  after  all,  between  them.     One  such  re- 


RELATIONS  TO  YOUNG  MEN.  291 

members  to  this  day  that,  having  been  somewlicre  introduced 
to  Dr.  Bushnell  and  very  cordially  invited  to  call  upon  him 
at  his  house,  he  did  so,  not  without  trepidation,  which  M'as 
presently  heightened  into  dismay.  Being  shown  into  "the 
Doctor's"  sanctum,  he  found  him  immersed  in  some  study  so 
deep  and  absorbing  that  he  could  not  at  once  return  to  earth 
at  the  call  of  an  intruder.  He  rose,  his  hair  all  bristling  in 
wild  confusion  with  the  electricity  of  thought,  and,  gazing  at 
the  shrinking  youth  with  that  gaze  which  sees  not,  ejaculated, 
"  Who  are  you  V  Terrified  at  this  reception,  the  poor  fellow 
could  hardly  muster  voice  or  courage  to  utter  his  own  name, 
but  was  immensely  relieved  when  the  stare  of  abstraction 
was  replaced  by  a  cordial  smile  and  greeting.  With  chairs 
drawn  close  to  the  cosy  wood-fire,  they  fell  into  a  long  and 
delightful  talk,  wherein  the  elder  man  gave  to  his  young- 
friend  sympathy  so  full  and  free  as  to  bind  him  to  himself 
for  life. 

It  was  Dr.  Bushnell's  habit,  for  many  years,  to  give  one 
evening  every  week  to  an  office-hour  at  the  church,  where  he 
was  free  to  visitors  of  all  sorts  who  might  wish  to  consult 
him  on  subjects  connected  with  either  business  or  religion. 
Young  men  were  most  apt  to  seek  him  there ;  and  there  Ins 
young  friend,  H.  J.  J.,  spent  many  an  evening  with  him, 
learning,  as  he  says,  how  to  carry  religion  into  business  and 
practical  life.  On  one  such  occasion,  when  Dr.  Bushnell  had 
been  trying  to  clear  up  some  point  of  duty  for  him,  he  paused, 
and  said  that  he  felt  a  diffidence  in  talking  with  young  men, 
lest  he  should  perplex  rather  than  help  them ;  and  then  he 
cut  the  whole  matter  short  by  saying, "  It  is  all  as  simple  as 
twice  one  is  two."  This  young  man  grew,  in  maturity,  to  be 
the  most  devoted  and  loyal  of  friends  to  "  the  Doctor,"  who 
fully  appreciated  his  qualities  and  returned  his- affection.  It 
was  he  who  wrote,  since  Dr.  Bushnell's  death,  on  his  "genius 
for  paying  his  debts,"  deriving  light,  doubtless,  on  this  point 
from  the  simplicity  of  the  old  lesson,  that  in  morals,  as  in 
arithmetic,  "  twice  one  is  two."  To  quote  one  sentence  : — 
"  ]!^ow,  here  was  a  man  all  intellect,  who  had  never  been  quiet, 
day  or  night,  from  excessive  mental  activity  which  a  weary 


292  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

sickness  of  twenty  years  did  not  diminish — a  man  capable  of 
grappling  with  all  great  subjects  and  principles,  so  organized 
that  he  could  not  possibly  wait  for  subjects  to  come  to  him, 
but  boldly  challenging  all  things  in  '  heaven  above  and  in 
the  earth  beneath,'  and,  in  fact,  finding  nothing  that  he  could 
not  satisfactorily  analyze,  except  the  great  '  mystery  of  godli- 
ness'— this  man,  from  the  beginning  of  his  ministry  in  Hart- 
ford, never  made  an  obligation  of  debt  to  the  amount  of  one 
dollar  when  he  did  not  know  where  the  money  w^as  to  come 
from  to  pay  such  obligation,  and,  when  due,  meeting  it  with 
the  promptness  of  the  rising  sun — never  once  asking  his 
church  to  relieve  him  of  his  debts;  for  he  made  no  debts. 
This  is  the  record  that  all  men  have  of  him,  who  had  any 
business  with  Horace  Bushnell." 

In  week-day  church  services,  he  was  not  only  faithful,  deep- 
ly interested,  and  full  of  good  matter  for  his  hearers,  but  gov- 
erned by  a  military  promptness  and  punctuality.  Business 
men  were  w^illing  to  give  the  hour  for  Thursday  evening  meet- 
ing, because,  rain  or  shine,  audience  or  no  audience,  the  service 
began  punctually  on  the  minute,  and  closed  promptly  at  the 
end  of  the  hour,  so  that  there  was  time  always  to  get  letters 
from  the  post-office  before  its  closing,  after  the  service  was 
over.  He  always  made  some  mental  preparation  for  the  even- 
ing, and  never  gave  husks  for  food ;  indeed,  some  of  his  best 
thought  and  speech  was  given  at  these  times.  Consequent- 
ly, he  had  generally  a  full  attendance,  and  the  interest  of  the 
brethren  in  the  meeting  was  as  strong  as  his  own.  He  laid 
himself  out  especially  for  fast-day  services ;  and  Thanksgiv- 
ing-day was  his  delight.  The  "  Preparatory  Lecture,"  before 
Communion  Sunday,  was  made  an  important  occasion,  on 
which  he  met  his  people  in  a  mood  of  the  deepest  earnest- 
ness. Besides  these  regular  services,  he  had  others  of  more 
varied  character  at  different  times.  For  the  men  of  his  con- 
gregation, in  the  hope  of  attracting  some  who  eluded  him  at 
church  meetings,  he  organized  a  "  Society  of  Inquiry."  He 
had  also  at  one  time  "  Meetings  of  Inquiry,"  as  he  called 
them,  where,  in  the  familiarity  of  the  lecture-room,  questions 
dropped  into  a  box  at  the  door  were  answered  impromptu 


VARIOUS  CHURCH  SERVICES.  293 

from  the  desk.  These  quick  replies  had  often  great  vivacity 
and  point ;  and  the  whole  service  made  a  very  cheerful  and 
lively  way  of  spending  the  Sunday  evening.  Questions 
which  we  young  people  sometimes  considered  to  be  weak- 
minded  or  unnecessary  he  answered  with  patience  and  pains- 
taking; but  he  had  little  charity  for  those  questions  which 
he  believed  to  have  been  written  in  a  cavilling  spirit,  or  with 
an  eye  to  hair-splitting  distinctions.  A  few  pungent  words 
of  satire  were  answer  enough  for  such. 

The  twenty  years  of  labor  in  the  North  Church  had  been 
years  of  very  hard  work,  and  yet  they  never  seemed  hard,  be- 
cause "  of  the  love  he  bore  them."  Indeed,  he  threw  himself 
too  heartily  always  into  what  he  was  doing  to  find  it  hard,  or 
aught  but  absorbingly  interesting.  A  friend  was  once  speak- 
ing to  him  of  the  hard  things  of  life,  and  expressing  a  half- 
humorous  preference  for  tlie  easier  ways.  "Nothing,"  he 
said,  "is  really  hard  when  once  we  are  in  it.  I  shall  never 
forget  when,  riding  homeward  in  my  college  vacation,  I  look- 
ed from  the  top  of  the  stage-coach  upon  the  mowers  in  the 
hay-field,  how  hot  and  tired  they  looked,  and  how  hard  and 
uninviting  their  work.  But  the  next  morning,  when  I  went 
into  the  hay-field  among  them,  and  fell  to  with  a  good  will, 
how  sweet  the  grass  smelled,  how  fresh  was  the  dew,  the 
breeze,  how  bright  the  sun,  how  pleasant  the  work!  So 
changed  are  all  things  when  we  look  at  them  from  within  in- 
stead of  from  w^ithout " 

Note. — In  connection  with  liis  work  for  his  own  church,  it  ought  to 
have  been  mentioned  that  Dr.  BushnelUs  influence  was  successfully  ex- 
erted for  the  payment  of  the  church  debt ;  and  that  the  financial  condi- 
tion of  the  North  Church  was  thereafter  kept  up  to  the  highest  standard 
by  the  united  sentiment  of  pastor  and  people. 


29i  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 


CHAPTEK  XV. 

1853. 

LETTER  OF  REMINISCENCES  BY  BISHOP  CLARK.— ADDRESS  FOR 
COMMON  SCHOOLS.  —LETTERS.  —  CONTROVERSY.  —LETTERS.— 
THE  HARTFORD  PARK.— OTHER  PUBLIC  MATTERS.— ESTI- 
MATE OF  DR.  BUSHNELL  AS  A  CITIZEN. 

The  interesting  letter  which  opens  this  chapter  is  the  kind 
contribution  of  the  Eight  Rev.  Thomas  M.  Clark,  Bishop  of 
Ehode  Island.  It  is  especially  appropriate  to  this  time,  when 
Dr.  Bushnell  was  beginning  to  extend  in  many  ways  his  in- 
fluence among  men  of  the  outside  world,  and  to  be  felt  as  a 
practical  power,  all  the  more  forcibly  in  that  he  was  a  spirit- 
ual power  also. 

To  Mrs.  Bushnell. 

Provideuce,  R.  I.,  April  26, 1878. 
My  dear  Madaai, — About  twenty -five  years  ago  I  had 
the  privilege  of  knowing  your  husband  in  Hartford.  Xo 
one  could  be  brought  into  frequent  contact  with  him,  and 
not  feel  that  he  was  in  the  presence  of  a  man  born  to  lead 
and  not  to  follow  the  thought  of  his  times.  He  never  seem- 
ed to  talk  with  the  view  of  impressing  you  with  a  sense  of 
his  mental  or  spiritual  superiority ;  neither  was  there  in  him 
any  affectation  of  humility  or  habit  of  self-depreciation.  He 
could  not  help  being  conscious  of  his  own  peculiar  powers ; 
but  one  who  heard  him  chatting  in  the  book-store  (his  favor- 
ite lounging-place  after  the  work  of  the  morning  was  over), 
with  all  sorts  of  people,  upon  all  sorts  of  subjects, — the  news 
of  the  day,  the  doings  of  public  men,  the  affairs  of  the  city, 
in  which  he  took  a  special  interest,  politics,  farming,  mechan- 
ics, inventions,  books,  or  whatever  else  might  turn  up, — would 
probably  go  away  without  suspecting  that  he  had  been  in  the 


REMINISCENCES   OF   BISHOP   CLARK.  295 

presence  of  one  of  the  profoundest  tliinkers  our  land  lias  ever 
produced.  No  one  could  help  being  interested  in  what  he 
said ;  for,  although  he  was  not  much  given  to  wit  and  humor, 
he  had  a  clear,  incisive,  original  way  of  putting  things  that 
could  not  fail  to  attract  attention.  I  remember  his  saying 
one  day,  as  he  was  turning  over  the  books,  "  It  is  very  hard 
for  me  to  read  a  book  through.  If  it  is  stupid  and  good-for- 
nothing,  of  course  I  have  to  give  it  up ;  and  if  it  is  really 
worth  reading,  it  starts  my  mind  off  on  some  track  of  its  own 
that  I  am  more  inclined  to  follow  than  I  am  to  find  out  what 
the  author  has  to  say."  Critics  have  remarked  that  Dr.  Bush- 
nell  not  unfrequently  brings  out  views  and  statements  as  if 
they  were  new,  with  which  reading  men  are  quite  familiar. 
This  may  be  in  some  degree  true ;  the  same  things  which 
came  to  him  may  have  been  suggested  by  others  ages  ago 
without  his  having  know^n  it.  He  worked  on  his  own  line, 
and  with  an  eye  to  what  lay  around  him.  Perhaps  if  he  had 
been  more  of  a  plodder,  and  had  taken  time  to  make  him- 
self familiar  with  other  men's  thoughts,  he  might  have  saved 
himself  some  trouble.  But  it  was  easier  for  him  to  create 
than  to  absorb ;  he  was  a  composer  and  not  a  reader,  a  foun- 
tain and  not  a  cistern. 

Few  men  ever  enjoyed  the  art  of  mental  creation  more 
thoroughly.  While  he  was  writing  his  great  work  on  "  The 
Supernatural,"  I  used  to  visit  him  at  his  study  on  Monday 
mornings,  for  the  purpose  of  hearing  him  read  over  the  chap- 
ters which  he  had  written  during  the  previous  week.  It  was 
to  me  a  rare  intellectual  treat,  and  I  wisii  that  I  had  noted 
down  at  the  time  some  of  the  comments  with  which  he  illus- 
trated his  work.  I  also  wush  that  I  could  have  sketched  his 
picture  as  he  sat  there  in  his  chair,  somewhat  uneasily,  as 
was  his  wont,  with  his  flashing  dark  eye  and  mobile  face,  that 
seemed  to  respond  so  vividly  to  the  thoughts  that  flashed 
from  his  brain.  AVhen  speaking  under  high  excitement  his 
whole  frame  was  set  in  motion,  and  he  seemed  to  gesticulate 
with  all  parts  of  his  body.  I  have  heard  him  speak  with  some 
contempt  of  the  technical  graces  of  oratory,  and  yet  he  was 
a  very  effective  speaker, — all  the  more  so,  because  he  evident- 

20 


296  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

\y  forgot  all  about  externals  iu  the  deep  absorption  of  bis 
subject. 

It  would  be  useless,  in  such  a  brief  sketcli  as  this,  to  at- 
tempt anything  like  a  thorough  analysis  of  Dr.  Bushnell's 
mental  characteristics,  and  it  is  a  work  that  would  require 
an  abler  pen  than  mine.  I  will  simply  note  down  a  few 
things,  as  they  occur  to  me,  among  the  general  impressions 
which  my  former  intercourse  with  him  has  left  imprinted 
on  my  mind.  While  he  was  etymolbgically  a  radical  think- 
er, inasmuch  as  he  was  accustomed  to  go  down  to  the  roots 
of  things,  and  his  temperament  always  urged  him  forward 
in  the  pursuit  of  truth,  his  instincts  were  very  conservative. 
He  was  very  impatient  of  shams,  and,  at  the  same  time,  very 
cautious  in  exposing  them,  lest  he  might  do  damage  to  the 
truth  of  which  they  professed  to  be  the  presentment.  This 
conservative  instinct  sometimes  led  him  to  qualify  his  posi- 
tions iu  such  a  degree  as  might  seem  to  weaken  their  force, 
and  he  M'ould  hold  himself  in  check,  and  give  prominence  to 
the  arguments  of  his  adversary,  in  order  that  he  might  not 
appear  to  disturb  the  equilibrium  of  truth.  By  some  he  was 
regarded  as  a  subverter  of  old  ideas,  and  even  as  a  reckless 
and  unchastened  innovator  and  heretic ;  but  he  was  really 
very  tender  of  all  received  dogma,  and  never  broke  away 
from  the  standards  except  under  moral  compulsion.  I  once 
told  him  that  I  thought  of  preaching  a  course  of  sermons  on 
a  topic  which,  twenty-five  years  ago,  we  had  not  learned  to 
handle  as  intelligently  and  freely  as  we  do  now;  and  I  shall 
never  forget  how  he  brouo;ht  down  his  hand  with  an  em- 
phatic  gesture  as  he  said,  "  I  would  not  preach  a  sermon  on 
that  subject  for  ten  thousand  dollars!"  Not  that  he  was 
afraid  to  do  it,  but  he  thought  the  time  had  not  come  for 
its  thorough  ventilation ;  and  if  he  once  threw  open  the  door 
of  his  mind,  it  must  be  to  let  the  wind  circulate  freely. 

I  always  thought  that  he  was  more  sensitive  to  criticism, 
and  suffered  more  under  reproach,  than  most  people  sup- 
posed ;  with  his  organization,  martyrdom  in  any  form  would 
have  been  a  peculiarly  severe  ordeal.  He  never  coveted  re- 
proach or  pain,  and  yet  he  would  have  gone  to  the  stake  rath- 


REMINISCENCES  OF  BISHOP  CLARK.  297 

er  than  pacrificc  his  convictions, — perhaps  not  with  a  loud 
song  on  his  h'ps,  but  none  tlie  less  firmly  for  that. 

We  sometimes  read  in  the  biographies  of  "great  and  good 
men"  that  they  were  never  heard  to  speak  disparagingly  of 
any  human  being, — a  very  doubtful  compliment :  this  could 
not  be  said  of  Dr.  Bushnell.  His  judgment  at  times  might 
seem  severe,  especially  of  pretentious,  ignorant,  high-talking 
men ;  but  he  treated  with  much  tenderness  and  respect  all 
whom  he  regarded  as  honestly  reaching  after  the  truth,  even 
though  they  appeared  to  him  to  be  groping  in  the  dai-k.  He 
was  discriminating,  but  not  censorious ;  and  though  ready  to 
censure  whatever  he  thought  deserved  to  be  condemned,  he 
was  always  willing  to  meet  an  intelligent,  fair-minded  oppo- 
nent in  a  generous  and  chivalrous  spirit.  For  such  as  talked 
of  what  they  could  not  understand,  or  talked  maliciously,  lie 
neither  had  nor  pretended  to  have  any  respect. 

Dr.  Bushnell  was  a  man  of  marvellous  versatility.  Those 
who  know  him  only  by  his  theological  writings  have  no  con- 
ception of  the  range  of  his  mind  and  the  variety  of  subjects 
that  he  had  investigated.  He  was  skilled  in  mechanics,  and 
has  given  the  world  some  inventions  of  his  own.  The  house 
in  which  I  once  lived  was  warmed  by  a  furnace  which  he 
devised,  when  such  domestic  improvements  were  compara- 
tively new.  He  could  plan  a  house,  or  lay  out  a  park,  or 
drain  a  city  better  than  many  of  our  experts.  He  was  as 
much  at  home  in  talking  with  the  rough  guides  of  the  Adi- 
rondacks  as  he  was  in  discussing  metaphysics  with  theolo- 
gians in  council.  If  he  had  gone  into  civil  life,  he  would 
have  taught  our  public  men  some  lessons  in  political  econ- 
omy which  they  greatly  need  to  know.  If  he  had  been  a 
medical  man,  he  would  have  struck  at  the  roots  of  disease, 
and  discovered  remedies  as  yet  unknown. 

His  mind  was  as  prolific  as  it  was  versatile.  He  worked 
readily  and  persistentlj^  accomplishing  much  in  quantity  as 
well  as  in  quality ;  and  his  peculiar  style  of  composition, 
which  it  would  be  a  terrible  effort  for  one  to  copy,  came 
to  him  as  naturally  and  easily  as  the  thoughts  which  it  em- 
bodied.    I  do  not  think  that  he  ever  slio-hted  his  work — he 


298  LIFE   OF   HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

tlioiight  too  profoundly  for  this ;  and  yet  he  must  liave  writ- 
ten rapidly,  or  he  could  never  have  covered  so  large  a  space 
of  ground. 

Dr.  Bushnell  had  a  large  amount  of  individuality ;  the  man 
impressed  you,  and  it  would  have  required  an  effort  to  insult 
him  or  trifle  with  him.  I  should  never  have  thought  of  ad- 
dressing him  as  Horace  ;  and  while  he  could  be  very  playful 
when  he  felt  like  it,  to  some  persons  he  seemed  to  be  rather 
unapproachable.  He  had  a  way  of  puncturing  bubbles  which 
might  well  make  certain  people  shy  of  him.  There  was  noth- 
ing in  his  manner  that  seemed  to  claim  veneration,  as  is  some- 
times the  case  with  "distinguished  divines,"  —  no  majestic 
sweep  of  the  hand,  or  orotund  proclamation  of  wise  sayings, 
or  assumption  of  superiority  in  any  form ;  but  you  felt  your- 
self to  be  in  the  presence  of  a  veal  man,  and  a  man  of  bulk, 
— not  large  in  stature,  but  great  in  spirit. 

I  hardly  need  to  add  that  he  was  a  devout  disciple  and  be- 
liever,— not  one  who  merely  speculated  about  religion,  but 
also  received  it  into  his  heart,  and  lived  accordinglj^  He  had 
all  the  spiritual  power,  as  well  as  the  far-sightedness,  of  a 
prophet ;  everything  pertaining  to  God,  and  Christ,  and  im- 
mortality burnt  under  his  touch, — it  was  a  live  coal  that  he 
placed  upon  the  altar.  However  he  might  speculate,  he  nev- 
er allowed  anything  to  come  as  a  veil  between  him  and  his 
Saviour, — he  saw  eye  to  eye,  and  knew  whom  he  believed. 
Of  all  this  others  will  speak  wdio  are  more  competent  to  de- 
lineate his  spiritual  life. 

I  regret  that  it  is  not  in  my  power  to  send  you  a  more 
worthy  sketch  of  one  whom  I  have  learned  to  venerate  and 
love  as  I  did  your  husband. 

Yery  respectfully  and  truly  yours,       Thomas  M.  Claek. 

In  March,  1853,  Dr.  Bushnell  preached,  and  later  published, 
a  sermon  for  Common  Schools,  on  the  modifications  demanded 
by  the  Eoman  Catholics.  The  questions  to  which  it  spoke  are 
still  live  questions  to-day,  and  we  are  still  halting  in  practice 
over  the  solutions  he  suggested.  For  this  reason,  it  may  not 
be  amiss  to  quote  some  of  his  clear  and  fair-minded  words: — 


ROMAN   CATHOLICS  IN   COMMON   SCHOOLS.  299 

"  '  Yc  shall  liavc  one  manner  of  law,  as  well  for  the  stranger,  as  for  one 
of  your  own  country :  for  I  am  the  Lord  your  God.' — Lev.  xxiv.  22. 

"  It  is  my  very  uncommon  privilege  and  pleasure  to  speak  to  you,  for 
once,  from  a  text  already  fulfilled,  and  more  than  fulfilled,  in  the  ob- 
servance ;  for  we,  as  a  people,  or  nation,  have  not  only  abstained  from 
passing  laws  that  are  unequal,  or  hard  upon  strangers,  which  is  what  the 
rule  of  tlie  text  forbids,  Ijut  we  have  invited  them  to  become  fellow-citi- 
zens with  us  in  our  privileges,  and  bestowed  upon  them  all  the  rights 
and  immunities  of  citizens.  .  .  . 

"  Thus  invited,  thus  admitted  to  an  equal  footing  with  us,  they  are  not 
content,  but  are  just  now  returning  our  generosity  by  insisting  that  we 
must  excuse  them  and  their  children  from  being  wholly  and  properly 
American.  They  will  not  have  one  law  for  us  and  for  themselves,  but 
they  demand  immunities  that  are  peculiar  to  themselves,  and  before 
unheard  of  by  us ;  or  else  that  we  wholly  give  up  for  their  sake  institu- 
tions that  are  the  dearest  privileges  of  our  birthright.  They  accej^t  the 
common  rights  of  the  law,  the  common  powers  of  voting,  the  common 
terms  of  property,  a  common  privilege  in  the  new  lands  and  the  mines 
of  gold ;  but  when  tliey  come  to  the  matter  of  common  schools,  they  will 
not  be  common  with  us  there — they  require  of  us,  instead,  either  to  give 
up  our  common  schools,  or  else,  which  in  fact  amounts  to  the  same 
thing,  to  hand  over  their  proportion  of  the  public  money,  and  let  them 
use  it  for  such  kind  of  schools  as  they  happen  to  like  best;  ecclesiastical 
schools,  whether  German,  French,  or  Irish  ;  any  kind  of  schools  but  such 
as  are  American,  and  will  make  Americans  of  their  children.  .  .  . 

"  I  mean,  of  course,  by  common  schools,  wlien  I  thus  speak,  schools  for 
the  children  of  all  classes,  sects,  and  denominations  of  the  people ;  so  far 
perfected  in  their  range  of  culture  and  mental  and  moral  discipline  that 
it  sliall  be  the  interest  of  all  to  attend,  as  being  the  best  schools  which 
can  be  found;  clear,  too,  of  any  such  objections  as  may  furnish  a  just 
ground  of  oftence  to  the  conscience  or  the  religious  scruples  of  any  Cliris- 
tian  body  of  our  people.  I  mean,  too,  schools  tliat  are  established  by  the 
public  law  of  the  State,  supported  at  the  public  expense,  organized  and 
superintended  by  public  authority.  Of  course  it  is  implied  that  the 
schools  shall  be  under  laws  that  are  general,  in  the  same  way  as  the  laws 
of  roads,  records,  and  military  service ;  that  no  distribution  shall  be  made, 
in  a  way  of  exception,  to  schools  that  are  private,  ecclesiastical,  or  paro- 
chial ;  that  whatever  accommodations  are  made  to  diflFerent  forms  of  re- 
ligion shall  be  so  made  as  to  be  equally  available  to  all;  that  the  right 
of  sei)arate  religious  instruction,  the  supervision,  the  choice  of  teachers, 
the  selection  of  books,  shall  l^e  provided  for  under  fixed  conditions,  and 
so  as  to  maintain  the  fixed  rule  of  majorities,  in  all  questions  left  for  the 
decision  of  districts.  The  schools,  in  other  words,  shall  be  common,  in 
just  the  same  sense  that  all  the  laws  are  common,  so  that  the  experience 
of  families  and  of  cliildren  under  them  shall  be  an  experience  of  the 


300  LIFE  OF   HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

great  republican  rule  of  majorities— an  exercise  for  majorities,  of  obedi- 
ence to  fixed  statutes,  and  of  moderation  and  impartial  respect  to  the 
rights  and  feelings  of  minorities — an  exercise  for  minorities  of  patience 
and  of  loyal  assent  to  the  will  of  majorities — a  schooling,  in  that  manner, 
which  begins  at  the  earliest  moment  possible,  in  the  rules  of  American 
law,  and  the  duties  of  an  American  citizen.  .  .  . 

"  This  great  institution,  too,  of  common  schools  is  not  onl}-  a  part  of 
the  State,  but  is  imperiously  wanted  as  such,  for  the  common  training  of 
so  many  classes  and  conditions  of  jieople.  There  needs  to  be  some  place 
where,  in  early  childhood,  they  may  be  brought  together  and  made  ac- 
quainted with  each  other;  thus  to  wear  away  the  sense  of  distance,  oth- 
erwise certain  to  become  an  established  animosity  of  orders;  to  form 
friendships;  to  be  exercised  together  on  a  common  footing  of  ingenuous 
rivalry ;  the  children  of  the  rich  to  feel  the  power  and  do  honor  to  the 
struggles  of  merit  in  the  lowly,  when  it  rises  above  them ;  the  children 
of  the  2)oor  to  learn  the  force  of  merit,  and  feel  the  benign  encourage- 
ment yielded  by  its  blameless  victories.  Indeed,  no  child  can  be  said  to 
be  well  trained,  especially  no  male  child,  who  has  not  met  the  jjeople  as 
they  are,  above  him  or  below,  in  the  seatings,  plays,  and  studies  of  the 
common  school.  Without  this  he  can  never  be  a  fully  qualified  citizen, 
or  j)rej)ared  to  act  his  part  wisely  as  a  citizen.  .  .  . 

"  Besides,  the  ecclesiastical  distinctions  are  themselves  distinctions  also 
of  classes  in  another  form,  and  such,  too,  as  are  much  more  dangerous 
than  any  distinctions  of  wealth.  Let  the  Catholic  children,  for  example, 
be  driven  out  of  our  schools  by  unjust  trespasses  on  their  religion,  or  be 
withdrawn  for  mere  pretexts  that  have  no  foundation,  and  just  there 
commences  a  training  in  religious  antipathies  bitter  as  the  grave.  Nev- 
er brought  close  enougli  to  know  each  other,  the  children,  subject  to  the 
great  well-known  principle  that  whatever  is  unknown  is  magnified  by 
the  darkness  it  is  under,  have  all  their  prejudices  and  repugnances  mag- 
nified a  thousand-fold.  They  grow  up  in  the  conviction  that  there  is 
nothing  but  evil  in  each  other,  and  close  to  that  lies  the  inference  that 
they  are  right  in  doing  what  evil  to  each  other  they  please.  I  complain 
not  of  the  fact  that  they  are  not  assimilated,  but  of  what  is  far  more  dis- 
honest and  wicked,  that  they  are  not  allowed  to  understand  each  other. 
They  are  brought  up,  in  fact,  for  misunderstanding;  separated  that  they 
may  misunderstand  each  other;  kept  apart,  walled  up  to  heaven  in  the 
enclosures  of  their  sects,  that  they  may  be  as  ignorant  of  each  other,  as 
inimical,  as  incapable  of  love  and  cordial  good-citizenship  as  possible. 
The  arrangement  is  not  only  unchristian,  but  it  is  thoroughly  un-Ameri- 
can, hostile  at  every  point  to  our  institutions  themselves.  No  bitterness 
is  so  bitter,  no  seed  of  faction  so  rank,  no  division  so  irreconcilable,  as 
that  which  grows  out  of  religious  distinctions,  sharpened  to  religious 
animosities,  and  softened  by  no  terms  of  intercourse ;  the  more  bitter 
when  it  begins  with  childhood ;  and  yet  more  bitter  when  it  is  exasper- 


THE   BIBLE   IN   COMMON   SCHOOLS.  301 

ated  also  by  distinctions  of  property  and  social  life  that  correspond  ;  and 
yet  more  bitter  still  when  it  is  aggravated  also  by  distinctions  of  stock 
or  nation. 

"  In  this  latter  view,  the  withdrawing  of  our  Catholic  cliildrcn  from 
the  common  schools,  unless  for  some  real  breach  upon  their  religion,  and 
the  distribution  demanded  of  public  moneys  to  them  in  schools  apart  by 
themselves,  is  a  bitter  cruelty  to  the  children,  and  a  very  unjust  aftront 
to  our  institutions.  We  bid  them  welcome  as  they  come,  and  open  to 
their  free  possession  all  the  rights  of  our  American  citizenship.  The}', 
in  return,  forljid  tlieir  children  to  be  Americans,  pen  them  as  foreigners 
to  keep  them  so,  and  train  them  up  in  the  speech  of  Ashdod  among  us. 
And  then,  to  complete  tlie  affront,  they  come  to  our  legislatures,  demand- 
ing it  as  their  right  to  share  in  funds  collected  by  a  taxing  of  the  whole 
people,  and  to  have  these  funds  applied  to  the  purpose  of  keeping  their 
children  from  being  Americans.  .  . . 

"  The  true  ideal  state  manifestly  is,  one  school  and  one  Christianity. 
But  it  does  not  follow  that  we  are  to  have  as  many  schools  as  we  have 
distinct  views  of  Christianity,  because  we  have  not  so  many  distinct 
Christianities.  Nor  is  anything  more  cruel  and  abominable  than  to  take 
the  little  children  apart,  whom  Christ  embraced  so  freely,  and  make  them 
parties  to  all  our  grown-up  discords ;  whom  Christ  made  one  with  him- 
self and  each  other,  in  their  lovelier  and,  God  forgive  us  if  perchance  it 
also  be,  their  wiser  age.  Let  us  draw  near  rather  to  the  common  Christ 
we  profess,  doing  it  through  them  and  for  their  sake,  and  see  if  we  can- 
not find  how  to  set  them  together  under  Christ  as  his  common  flock.  ,  .  . 

"  In  most  of  our  American  communities,  especially  those  which  are  older 
and  more  homogeneous,  we  have  no  difficulty  in  retaining  the  Bible  in 
the  schools  and  doing  everything  necessary  to  a  sound  Christian  training. 
Nor,  in  the  larger  cities,  and  the  more  recent  settlements,  where  tlie  popu- 
lation is  partly  Roman  Catholic,  is  there  any,  the  least  difficulty  in  arrang- 
ing a  plan  so  as  to  yield  the  accommodation  they  need,  if  only  there  were 
a  real  disposition  on  both  sides  to  have  the  arrangement.  And  precisely 
here,  I  suspect,  is  the  main  difficulty.  There  may  have  been  a  want  of 
consideration  sometimes  manifested  on  the  Protestant  side,  or  a  willing- 
ness to  thrust  our  own  forms  of  religious  teaching  on  the  children  of 
Catholics.  Wherever  we  have  insisted  on  retaining  the  Protestant  Bible 
as  a  school-book,  and  making  the  use  of  it  by  the  children  of  Catholic 
families  compulsory,  there  has  been  good  reason  for  complaining  of  our 
intolerance.  But  there  is  a  much  greater  difficulty,  I  fear,  and  more  in- 
vincible, on  the  other  side.  In  New  York  the  Catholics  complained  of 
the  reading  of  the  Protestant  Scriptures  in  the  schools,  and  of  the  text- 
books employed,  some  of  which  contained  hard  expressions  against  the 
Catholic  Church.  The  Bible  was  accordingly  withdrawn  from  the 
schools,  and  all  religious  instruction  discontinued.  The  text-books  of 
the  schools  were  sent  directly  to  Archbishop  Hughes  in  person,  to  re- 


302  LIFE   OF   HORACE   BUSHNELL. 

ceive  exactly  such  expurgations  as  he  and  his  clergy  would  direct.  They 
declined  the  offer  by  a  very  slender  evasion ;  and  it  was  afterwards  found 
that  some  of  the  books  complained  of  were  in  actual  use  in  their  own 
Church  schools,  tliough  already  removed  from  the  schools  of  the  city. 
Meantime  the  immense  and  very  questionable  sacrifice  thus  made  to  ac- 
commodate the  complaints  of  the  Catholics  resulted  in  no  discontinu- 
ance of  their  schools,  neither  in  any  important  accession  to  the  common 
schools  of  the  city,  from  the  children  of  Catholic  families.  On  the  con- 
trary, the  priests  now  change  their  note,  and  begin  to  complain  that  the 
schools  are  'godless'  or  'atheistical' — just  as  they  have  required  them 
to  be.  In  facts  like  these,  fortified  by  the  fact  that  some  of  the  priests 
are  even  denying,  in  public  lectures,  the  right  of  the  State  to  educate 
children  at  all,  we  seem  to  discover  an  absolute  determination  that  the 
children  shall  be  withdrawn,  at  whatever  cost,  and  that  no  terms  of  ac- 
commodation shall  be  satisfactory.  It  is  not  that  satisfaction  is  impossi- 
ble, but  that  there  is  really  no  desire  for  it.  Were  there  any  desire,  the 
ways  in  which  it  may  be  accomplished  are  many  and  various. 

"  1.  Make  the  use  of  the  Bible  in  the  Protestant  or  Douay  version 
optional. 

"  3.  Compile  a  book  of  Scripture  reading-lessons,  by  agreement,  from 
both  versions. 

"  3.  Provide  for  religious  instruction,  at  given  hours,  or  on  a  given 
day,  by  the  clergy,  or  by  qualified  teachers  such  as  the  parents  may 
choose. 

"  4.  Prepare  a  book  of  Christian  morality,  distinct  from  a  doctrine  of 
religion  or  a  faith,  which  shall  be  taught  indiscriminately  to  all  the 
scholars. 

"  Out  of  these  and  other  elements  like  these,  it  is  not  difBcult  to  con- 
struct, by  agreement,  such  a  plan  as  will  be  Christian,  and  will  not  in- 
fringe in  the  least  upon  the  tenets  of  either  party,  the  Protestant  or  the 
Catholic.  It  has  been  done  in  Holland,  and,  where  it  was  much  more 
difficult,  in  Ireland.  The  British  government,  undertaking  at  last,  in 
good  faith,  to  construct  a  plan  of  national  education  for  Ireland,  ap- 
pointed Archbishop  Whately  and  the  Catholic  Archbishop  of  Dublin, 
with  five  others,  one  a  Presbyterian  and  one  a  Unitarian,  to  be  a  board 
or  committee  of  superintendence.  They  agreed  upon  a  selection  of  read- 
ing-lessons from  both  translations  of  the  Scriptures,  and,  by  means  of  a 
system  of  restrictions  and  qualifications,  carefully  arranged,  providing 
for  distinct  methods  and  times  of  religious  instruction,  they  were  able 
to  construct  a  union,  not  godless  or  negative,  but  thoroughly  Christian 
in  its  character,  and  so  to  draw  as  many  as  five  hundred  thousand  of  the 
children  into  the  public  schools ;  conferring  thus  upon  the  poor  neglect- 
ed and  hitherto  oppressed  Irish,  greater  benefits  than  they  have  before 
received  from  any  and  all  public  measures  since  the  Conquest. .  .  . 

"  There  is  a  great  deal  of  cant  in  this  complaint  of  godless  educa- 


ONLY   COMMON  SCHOOLS   AMERICAN.  303 

tion,  or  the  defect  of  religious  instruction  in  schools,  as  Baptist  Noel, 
Dr.  Vauglian,  and  other  distinguished  English  writers  have  abundantly 
shown.  It  is  not,  of  course,  religious  instruction  for  a  child  to  be  drilled, 
year  ujion  year,  in  S2)elling  out  the  words  of  the  Bible  as  a  reading-book 
— it  may  be  onlj^  an  exercise  that  answers  the  problem  how  to  dull  the 
mind  most  effectually  to  all  sense  of  the  Scripture  words,  and  commu- 
nicate least  of  their  meaning.  Nay,  if  the  Scriptures  were  entirely  ex- 
cluded from  the  schools,  with  all  formal  teaching  of  religious  doctrine, 
I  would  yet  undertake,  if  I  could  have  my  liberty  as  a  teacher,  to  com- 
municate more  of  real  Christian  truth  to  a  Catholic  and  a  Protestant 
boy,  seated  side  by  side,  in  the  regulation  of  their  treatment  of  each  oth- 
er, as  related  in  terms  of  justice  and  charity,  and  their  government  as 
members  of  the  school  community  (where  truth,  order,  industry,  and 
obedience  are  duties  laid  upon  the  conscience  under  God),  than  they 
will  ever  draw  from  any  catechism,  or  have  worn  into  their  brain  by  the 
dull  and  stammering  exercise  of  a  Scripture  reading-lesson.  .  .  . 

"  I  do  then  take  the  ground,  and  upon  this  I  insist,  as  the  true  Ameri- 
can ground,  that  we  are  to  have  common  schools,  and  never  to  give  them 
up,  for  any  purpose,  or  in  obedience  to  any  demand  whatever — never  to 
give  tliem  up,  either  by  formal  surrender  or  by  implication,  as  by  a  dis- 
tribution of  moneys  to  ecclesiastical  and  sectarian  schools.  The  State 
cannot  distribute  funds  in  this  manner  without  renouncing  even  a  first 
principle  of  our  American  institutions,  and  becoming  the  supporter  of  a 
sect  in  religion.  It  may  as  well  support  the  priests  of  a  church  as  sup- 
port the  schools  of  a  church  separated  from  other  schools,  for  the  very 
purpose  of  being  subjected  to  the  priests. 

"But  while  w'e  are  firm  in  this  attitude,  and  hold  it  as  a  point  immov- 
able, we  must,  for  that  very  reason,  be  the  more  ready  to  do  justice  to 
the  religious  convictions  of  all  parties  or  sects,  and  to  yield  them  such 
concessions,  or  enter  into  such  arrangements  as  will  accommodate  their 
peculiar  princii)les  and  clear  them  of  any  infringement."  .  .  . 

To  Dr.  Bartol. 

Hartford,  February  9, 1853. 

My  dear  Friend, — Meeting  onr  common  friend,  Whipple, 
here  yesterday  started  my  conscience  a  little  as  regards  the 
matter  of  a  letter  to  you,  too  long  neglected. "  By-the-way, 
before  I  leave  the  point  behind  me,  let  me  say  how  great 
pleasure  Mr.  W.  gave  us  last  evening  in  his  lecture.  It  was 
the  best  I  have  heard  from  him,  which  is  saying  a  good  deal 
— truly  magnificent. 

He  tells  me  that  you  have  been  outdoing  yourself,  too,  in 
your  new  book,  which  as  yet  I  have  not  seen,     I  have  only 


304  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSIINELL. 

seen  it  advertised,  "  Body  and  Form."  Wei],  have  you  really 
taken  a  body?  We  shall  see,  in  due  time, how  much  of  the 
carnal  you  have  undertaken  to  support.  However,  if  a  man 
has  a  body,  it  is  very  convenient  to  have  a  form  too,  and  some 
would  like  a  mnch  prettier,  better,  finer,  more  elegant,  than  is 
given  them.  But  I  think  I  can  guess  pretty  nearly  what  you 
mean,  which,  if  I  do,  it  is  not  so  bad ;  for  there  are  some 
things  in  the  spiritual  world,  or  w^orld  of  truth,  that  must 
have  both  body  and  form  to  enable  them  to  speak,  travel, 
etc. 

I  returned  from  my  two  months'  tour  at  the  West  two 
months  ago,  very  nmch  better  than  when  I  went,  able  to  re- 
turn to  my  w^ork  and  even  to  improve  in  it,  though  a  little 
battered  by  it  again  for  the  last  two  weeks.  I  am  going 
on  again  with  my  lectures  on  Supernaturalism.  By-and-by, 
therefore,  if  I  live  —  when,  I  cannot  say — you  may  look  for 
another  volume  or  two;  new  heresies  to  be  game  for  the 
hunters. . . . 

To  the  Same. 

Hartford,  April  4, 1853. 

My  deae  Friend, — Your  book  has  been  a  very  long  time 
in  coming,  and  I  have  been  about  as  slow  in  acknowledging 
it.  The  truth  is,  that  I  have  been  so  pressed  in  my  reading 
and  study  for  the  lectures  I  have  on  hand,  as  to  have  little 
time  for  anything  beside.  Excuse  me,  then,  if  I  say,  in  a 
manner  of  so  great  deliberation,  how  much  I  am  pleased 
with  the  success  of  your  second  experiment.  I  think  yon 
have  done  a  very  great  service  to  many  in  our  time  who 
have  been  thinking  to  have  a  religion  without  terms  and 
observances,  a  soul  without  a  body.  There  is  a  class  who 
are  ever  pushing  themselves  into  this  folly,  imagining,  one 
might  suppose,  that  being  spiritual  is  the  same  thing  as 
being  disembodied  spirits.  They  get  on  poorly,  of  course. 
Indeed,  to  say  the  truth,  this  kind  of  spirituality  is,  to  a 
great  extent,  the  same  thing  as  a  will  to  be  excused  from 
all  duty ;  and  I  am  glad  to  see  that  you  treat  them  accord- 
ingly. 

The  extreme  beauty  of  your  treatment  of  these  subjects, 


MOTORS.  305 

I  hope,  will  entice  some  of  these  crude  malefactors  into  bet- 
ter thoughts.  I  rejoice,  too,  in  the  glorious  vitality  you  have 
been  able  to  infuse  into  some  of  these  formalities — to  wit,  bod- 
ies. If  I  were  to  criticise  you  in  any  respect,  it  w^ould  be 
that  you  are  too  uniformly  fine^  and  not  wicked  enough  or 
coarse  enough  to  lay  on  blows  that  are  naked  blows.  I  have 
read  no  book  for  a  long  time  that  abounds  in  passages  of 
beauty  so  exquisite,  or  of  Christian  eloquence  so  thrilling ;  but 
I  feel  the  want  of  a  more  didactic,  shall  I  say  common,  form 
of  handling.  I  think  it  would  give  you  more  weight  in  the 
impression.  Indeed,  I  have  a  mind  to  turn  your  doctrine 
back  upon  you,  and  say  that  you  want  form,  i.  e.,  formal  distri- 
bution— that  which  is  the  sermon-like  in  a  sermon.  Am  I 
right  or  wrong? 

With  great  regard,  I  am  yours,  H.  Bushnell. 

To  the  same  friend  he  wrote,  on  the  18th  of  May : — "  I  have 
not  thanked  you  for  your  two  sermons.  I  was  particularly 
refreshed  by  the  new  motive-power  sermon,  because,  perhaps, 
I  happened  to  be  working  my  brains,  at  the  time,  on  a  modi- 
fication of  the  new  engine,  which  I  saw  beforehand  was  des- 
tined to  be  a  failure. 

"I  have  been  very  hard  at  work  since  my  return  from  the 
"West,  and  have  done  some  things  which,  comparing  myself 
with  myself,  are  tolerable.  I  am  -writing  this  week  a  dis- 
course that  commemorates  the  twentieth  year  of  my  settle- 
ment. So  we  go ;  the  second  childhood,  I  suppose,  is  to  come 
next.-' 

The  new  engine  alluded  to  was  Ericsson's  Caloric  Motor, 
which,  though  a  failure,  suggested,  as  Dr.  Bushnell  thought, 
a  valuable  principle  in  mechanics.  He  thought  he  had  a  clew 
to  the  right  way  of  using  it,  and  drew  a  plan  of  an  engine  to 
illustrate  his  idea.  It  was  never  worked  out  thoroughly  or 
tested,  however,  although  one  or  two  practical  machinists, 
who  looked  over  his  drawings,  saw  promise  in  his  idea. 

In  June,  1853,  there  w-as  a  meeting  of  the  General  Associ- 
ation at  "Waterbury,  where  was  re-enacted  the  yearly  drama 
of  assault  and  defence  in  the  Bushnell  case.     It  came  at  this 


306  LIFE   OF   HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

time  In  the  form  of  a  complaint,  signed  by  fifty  ministers, — 
a  complaint  of  the  course  taken,  through  several  successive 
3'ears,  by  the  Hartford  Central  Association,  in  acquitting  Dr. 
Bushnell  and  protecting  him  from  trial ;  by  which  course,  it 
was  averred,  they  had  practically  violated  the  constitution 
and  sundered  the  organic  bond  of  the  General  Association ; 
and  calling  upon  the  General  Association  to  exscind  and  dis- 
own Hartford  Central,  unless  they  should  reconsider  and  alter 
their  course.  The  reply  or  memorial  from  Hartford  Central 
was  temperate  and  careful,  though  they  had  reason  to  feel 
that  the  arraignment  was  mischievous  and  disorderly. 

"  The  weather,"  said  the  rejiorter  for  the  Religious  Herald, 
has  been  unprecedentedly  warm,  so  that  it  is  coming  to  be  be- 
lieved that,  as  the  cool  Quakers  always  brought  rain  by  their 
yearly  meetings,  so  the  M'arm,  contentious,  heresy  -  debating 
Connecticut  Association  is  destined  to  attract  and  concentrate 
the  sun's  hottest  rays." 

The  debate  was  long  and  perplexing,  though  it  appeared 
after  a  time  that  the  sympathies  of  a  large  part  of  the  body 
were  with  the  Hartford  Central.  Deeper  and  deeper  became 
the  entanglements,  and  division  seemed  imminent.  One 
member,  who  had  throughout  the  controversy  been  active 
in  attack,  declared  himself  thus, — "  We  have  come  to  a  cri- 
sis in  the  history  of  the  churches  in  Connecticut.  Obscure 
it  as  you  w^ill,  the  foundations  are  touched.  The  question 
is  whether  a  man  charged  with  treason  against  the  truth  of 
Christ  and  the  throne  of  God  can  be  tried.  Pass  those  res- 
olutions, and  the  answer  goes  forth  to  the  world,  No !  Di- 
vision is  the  consequence."  A  number  present  were  ready 
to  take  similar  ground,  and  agreement  began  to  seem  im- 
possible, when  the  Association  was  temporarily  rescued  from 
its  dilemma  by  the  legal  adroitness  of  Dr.  Leonard  Bacon, 
who  introduced  a  resolution  which  saved  the  feelings  of  both 
parties.  Dr.  Bacon  had  also  taken  occasion,  in  a  hearty  and 
generous  manner,  to  express  his  partial  concurrence  with  the 
doctrines  of  Dr.  Bushnell's  books,  and  his  regard  for  the 
Christian  character  of  their  author. 

Division,  however,  must  come — if  not  in  one  shape,  in  an- 


THE   MINORITY   OF   HARTFORD   CENTRAL.  307 

other.  In  Hartford  Central  Association  there  liad  been  for 
years  a  dissatisfied  minority ;  dissatisfied  because  they  be- 
lieved there  was  fundamental  error  in  Dr.  Bushnell's  books ; 
dissatisfied  because  he  was  not  brought  to  trial ;  dissatisfied 
because  his  vital  ministry,  powerful  preaching,  and  new  ideas 
were  a  continual  stumbling-block  in  the  way  of  the  old  es- 
tablished habits  and  standards  of  their  ancient  churches. 
Finding  that  their  minority  was  powerless  in  Hartford 
Central  Association,  and  desiring  some  organization  through 
which  tliey  could  control  the  action  of  those  who  sympa- 
thized with  their  views,  they  conceived  the  idea  of  separat- 
ing from  their  old  Association  and  of  forming  a  new  one, 
to  be  called  tlie  Hartford  Fourth,  and  to  consist  exclusive- 
ly of  such  pastors  and  churches  as  they  knew  to  be  anti- 
Bushnell. 

Dr.  Bushnell  deplored  the  creation  of  this  new  Association, 
not  because  it  gave  body  and  form  to  a  long-existing  hostility 
to  himself,  but  because  it  involved  the  churches,  hitherto  spec- 
tators only  of  the  strife,  in  more  positive  and  active  separa- 
tion from  each  other.  He  foresaw  that  it  must  necessarily 
deepen  an  alienation,  already  painfully  prominent,  and  add 
to  the  scandal  which  he  felt  to  be  so  injurious  to  the  cause 
of  religion  in  the  community.  In  fact,  however,  it  did  little 
more  than  to  emphasize  a  state  of  things  already  existing. 
On  the  withdrawal  of  the  Korth  Church  from  the  Conso- 
ciation, Dr.  Hawes  had  felt  it  to  be  his  duty  to  draw  the 
line  of  non- intercourse  more  strictly.  He  saw  no  other 
way  of  sufliciently  expressing  his  own  condemnation  of  Dr. 
BushnelTs  unsoundness,  and  of  discountenancing  errors  so 
dangerous  as  those  which  his  books  were  promulgating.  In 
this  position  he  was  undoubtedly  honest,  though  perhaps  not 
so  free  from  a  personal  bias  as  he  believed.  He  "schooled 
himself,"  as  he  said,  and  tried  to  be  right ;  but  he  could  not 
escape  from  the  ruts  which  he  had  made  for  himself. 

But  Association  meetings,  with  their  sentences  of  condem- 
nation, had  lost  their  terrors  for  Dr.  Bushnell,  if  they  ever 
had  any.  Neither  did  he  greatly  care  for  the  dead-letter  of 
ecclesiastical  machinery ;  he  sought,  rather,  the  spirit  which 


308  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

giveth  life.  He  loved  the  brethren,  even  those  who  loved 
not  him,  with  a  large  and  free  forbearance,  and  a  patient  ex- 
pectation of  the  time  when  their  eyes  would  be  opened  to  a 
better  understanding  of  him.  He  worked  in  many  and  con- 
stantly more  various  ways,  and  recreated  when  the  occasion 
came,  unrufHed  in  his  lofty  cheer  by  all  the  winds  tliat  blew. 
Fortunate  for  him  that  he  knew  how  to  play  as  well  as  how 

to  work ! 

Saratoga,  July  23, 1853. 

My  deak  Wife, — I  arrived  here  safe  about  half-past  four 
o'clock  yesterday,  and  without  inconvenience  from  fatigue. 
I  was  obliged  to  hunh  out  for  the  night  before  I  could  ob- 
tain a  room,  but  this  morning  was  called  in  and  assigned  a 
place  among  the  great  herd  of  eaters  and  sleepers.  And,  lest 
you  should  be  detained  from  a  great  pleasure  too  long,  I  will 
here  announce  the  fact  that  I  have  already  declined  preach- 
ing! I  find  myself  already  very  much  stronger  and  better 
than  when  I  left  home ;  and,  if  I  gain  as  fast  for  the  next 
two  or  three  days,  I  shall  begin  to  think  that  I  am  quite  well. 
The  very  taste  of  the  water  this  morning  was  like  a  draught 
of  health,  I  behaved  admirably  well  to-day  at  the  table.  Oh, 
if  you  could  have  seen  how  I  sat  waiting  between  the  mouth- 
fuls,  how  proud  you  would  have  been  of  me  !  I  shall  not  do 
so  to-morrow,  save  by  a  miracle,  and  no  one,  certainly  no 
orthodox  believer,  permits  the  faith  of  miracles  performed 
at  the  present  day.  Besides,  tlie  true  miracles  are  always 
wrought  to  expedite  feeding,  and  never  to  restrain  it.  For 
which  reason,  if  you  should  like  to  have  performed  the  mira- 
cle in  question — viz.,  the  miracle  of  slow  feeding — it  would 
never  be  a  popular  gift.  Is  it  not  the  great  wonder  and 
glory  of  our  modern  age  that  we  are  learning  to  do  every- 
thing so  rapidly  1  What  else  do  we  boast  in  the  steamboat, 
the  railroad,  and  the  telegraph  ?  These,  in  fact,  we  call  "  our 
miracles,"  because  we  are  able  to  do  in  so  short  a  time  what 
our  dull  and  snail-paced  fathers  did  in  so  long  a  time.  So  we 
go  on,  and  I  do  not  despair  of  a  time  when  a  man  will  be 
able  to  dine,  as  he  winks,  by  one  simple  clapping  together  of 
the  upper  and  lower  integuments.     Then  what  an  immense 


LETTERS.  309 

addition  to  the  length  of  life,  just  as  we  say  of  the  additions 
made  by  our  wonderful  celerities  of  travel  and  correspond- 
ence. .  .  . 

To  the  Same. 

Saratoga,  August  1, 1853. 

I  have  read  your  letter  over  and  over  with  great  refresh- 
ment, and,  I  hope,  some  benefit.  To  have  you  occupy  my 
study  in  this  manner  will  not  be  amiss,  if  you  are  able  to  con- 
secrate the  place  for  my  return,  and  fill  it  with  revelations 
that  I  can  participate  in  myself.  I  have  some  respect  for 
man,  even  as  compared  with  woman  ;  but,  if  all  men  are  like 
me,  they  very  much  need  some  vestal  to  keep  their  holy  fire 
burning,  else  it  might  go  quite  out.  .  .  . 

I  think  you  are  quite  right  in  your  conviction  that  we 
ought,  as  Christians,  to  be  always  girded,  and  can  have  the 
freedom  of  the  spirit  in  no  other  manner.  There  is  a  gird- 
ing which  is  quite  consistent  with  rest ;  and  it  is,  in  fact,  a 
mode  of  rest  always  consistent  with  relaxation,  when  relaxa- 
tion is  in  the  line  of  duty.  Taking  this  into  the  account,  we 
need  not  fear  a  girding  too  stringent ;  for  stringency  is  then 
comprehensive  enough  to  include  cessations  of  wear  and 
work,  and  times  of  refitting  for  them.  I  think  I  see,  more 
clearly  than  ever  before,  where  my  conceptions  have  been  de- 
fective. You  hit  the  mark  exactly  in  a  conversation  we  had 
just  before  I  left  home,  in  which  you  had  something  to  say 
of  a  too  passive,  too  self-resigned  piety.  There  should  be  a 
complete  self-resignation,  only  it  should  not  be  self-annihi- 
lation. The  soul  should  be  as  positive  in  its  conformity  to 
God  as  if  God  were  to  be  conformed  to  it ;  that  is,  it  should 
still  be,  think,  desire,  do,  act  from  its  self-hood,  as  if  it  were 
not  lost  in  the  deep  sea  of  God's  own  fulness.  Pray  for  me, 
that  God  may  prepare  me  to  a  state  so  difiicult  to  conceive, 
and  so  much  more  difiicult  to  realize. 

I  hope  to  give  you  the  bulletin  that  I  am  gaining.  I 
preached  last  evening  with  no  sense  of  injury;  but  I  have 
still  a  faint  propensity  to  cough,  though  I  am  much  more 
clear  and  free  than  I  was.     I  go  to  Sharon  to-morrow.  .  .  . 


310  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

To  the  Same. 

Sharon  Springs,  August  14, 1853,  ) 
Sunday  afternoon.  ) 

I  have  just  been  attending  a  service  in  the  parlor  of  our 
house,  which,  as  far  as  the  sermon  was  concerned,  has  been 
abundantly  shocking  to  me ;  and  I  know  not  how  I  shall 
better  make  out  a  Sunday's  exercise,  than  to  sit  down  and 
have  a  little  Christian  communion  with  you.  And  I  begin 
with  your  catechism,  the  principal  question  of  which  is, 
"  "Whether  God  will  bring  to  pass,  in  these  last  days,  facts 
by  which  he  will  restore  to  the  Church  the  knowledge  of 
himself,  as  in  a  relation  of  reciprocity  to  it  ?"  etc.  When  I 
hear  such  crudities  of  theology  offered  as  the  wisdom  of  the 
Gospel  {e.  g.,  the  crudities  of  this  morning),  I  confess  it  looks 
very  much  as  if  nothing  could  ever  be  done  for  the  Church 
save  through  facts,  supernatural  facts.  For  when  will  it 
come  to  pass  that  men  will  have  thoroughly  burnt  out  their 
own  wood,  hay,  and  stubble,  even  if  thei/  must  be  burnt  ? 
When  will  they  get  out  of  their  scholastics  into  faith,  and.  so 
conceive  the  Lord  as  to  really  present  him  unencumbered  by 
their  follies  ?  But  what  sort  of  facts,  if  facts  are  to  be  the 
remedy, — by  what  sort  will  it  come?  Undoubtedly  by  such 
as  reveal  intimacy,  communication,  mutuality,  "reciprocity;" 
but  it  does  not  follow  that  it  will  be  by  any  facts  repeated, 
any  old  worn-out  facts,  which  have  as  yet  perfected  or  con- 
summated nothing,  but  have  allowed  all  the  retrocessions 
and  ages  of  blindness  the  world  has  seen  of  late.  For  exam- 
ple, we  shall  not  look  for  another  Abraham,  or  another  Paul, 
or  another  John  the  Baptist,  much  less  for  another  Christ. 
It  is  a  common  error  to  fill  our  imagination  out  of  our  mem- 
ories, and  think  that  what  has  been  shall  be  again,  and  that 
nothing  else  should  be.  But  no  battle  is  ever  fought  over 
again,  any  more  than  the  gunpowder  is  burnt  a  second  time. 
God  is  under  no  such  terms  of  poverty  that  he  can  only  fill 
his  quiver  with  arrows  he  has  sliot  before,  l^arrowly  in- 
spected, he  is  found  never  to  repeat  anything.  What  then — 
by  what  facts  ?     By  such,  certainly,  as  indicate  new  stages  of 


LETTERS.  311 

advance,  higher  ascensions  of  spiritual  life,  a  more  complete 
and  fuller  Christian  life.  And  I  know  not  any  direction, 
whither  I  can  turn,  to  imagine  facts  that  are  to  come  in  the 
power  of  a  new  and  better  futurity,  unless  it  be  to  something 
connected  with  modern  science,  feeling,  history ;  e.  f/.,  the  con- 
ception of  nature  adjusted  so  as  to  permit  the  rational,  scien- 
tific (so  to  speak)  ingrafting  of  a  supernatural  bcstowment 
of  God  upon  men,  and  the  display  of  an  open  state  between 
God  and  men.  Hitherto  the  Christian  receptivity  of  the 
world  has  been  closed  up,  or  nearly  so,  by  the  jealousy  of  all 
that  is  supernatural.  Men  have  been  able  to  receive  only  a 
little  of  the  divine,  or  none  at  all,  lest  they  should  fool  them- 
selves. But  when  they  can  attain  to  a  conviction,  approach- 
ing the  generality-  of  science,  that  the  supernatural  is  the 
necessary  complement  of  nature,  without  which  it  is  a  mea- 
gre abortion,  there  will  be  an  opening  of  their  bosoms  to  the 
divine  as  a  general  and  blessed  fact,  the  prime  fact  of  exist- 
ence. Accordingly,  all  teaching,  all  facts  of  experience  and 
character  that  help  the  grand  development  referred  to,  are  to 
be  looked  for.  Do  not  say,  now,  that  I  speak  thus  out  of  my 
dulness  or  want  of  faith.  I  do  not  pretend  to  limit  God  by 
my  inventions.  I  only  say  that  my  mind  turns  most  natural- 
ly in  this  direction.  And  still  the  Avisdom  of  God  is  the  fool- 
ishness of  men.  At  any  rate,  I  can  trust  him.  Oh  that  I 
could  be  as  confident  of  tilling  my  place  in  his  counsel ! 

I  got  your  letter  yesterday,  three  days  after  the  mailing. 
I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  return  home  and  try  a  little  di- 
version with  you.  It  will  do  me  good,  and  I  shall  enjoy  it 
more  than  anything  else.  It  mars  everything  to  me  that 
you  are  behind,  shut  up  and  caged  at  home.  In  the  mean 
time,  make  up  your  mind,  if  you  can,  which  way  you  will 
go, — on  a  ride  by  ourselves  to  Newport,  to  New  •Haven,  or,  if 
you  will  have  the  most  complete  rest  possible,  to  ^rt^^  Windsor. 

Your  husband,  with  abundance  of  love  to  you  and  to  ours, 

H.  BuSHNELL. 


*  This  word,  wliicli  be  allowed  himself  to  use  in  a  hastily  written  let- 
ter, suggests,  but  docs  not  seem  to  convey,  the  idea  he  had  in  mind. 

21 


312  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

Eetiirning  to  Hartford  in  September,  refreshed  by  the  va- 
cation and  by  the  highly  spiritual  thought  which  had  been 
its  noblest  form  of  relaxation,  he  found  a  practical  piece  of 
work  waiting  for  him.  Going  about  the  city  from  time  to 
time,  always  with  his  eyes  open  for  possible  improvements, 
he  had  discovered  some  time  ago  a  site  for  a  park, — a  place 
then  hideous  and  defiled,  which  his  imagination  saw  trans- 
formed by  care  into  "a  joy  forever."  Practical  difficulties 
had  heretofore  stood  in  the  way,  but  he  found  now  the  op- 
portunity for  which  he  had  been  waiting,  and  at  once  laid 
the  matter  before  the  Common  Council.  The  history  of  this 
victorious  struggle  to  obtain  a  park  for  Hartford  was  written 
by  himself,  at  the  request  of  Mr.  Donald  G.  Mitchell,  as  a 
contribution  for  Hearth  and  Home,  in  which  paper  it  was 
published  in  1869.    AVe  give  it  almost  entire. 

To  Donald  G.  Mitchell,  Esq. 

Deak  Sie, — You  request  of  me  for  Hearth  and  Home  a 
brief  history  of  our  Hartford  Park,  and  especially  of  the 
manner  in  which  it  was  established.  And  you  ask  it  of  me, 
I  suj)pose,  because  I  am  known  to  have  been  largely  concern- 
ed in  getting  the  im^^rovement  on  foot.  But  the  fact  which 
directs  you  to  me  is,  in  truth,  the  only  reason  why  I  hesitate ; 
because,  having  been  at  first  the  principal  mover  of  the  un- 
dertaking, it  may  be  necessary  to  risk  a  considerable  appear- 
ance of  egotism.  However,  since  you  ask  it  as  a  help,  or  in- 
centive to  others  engaged  in  a  similar  undertaking,  and  no 
one  else  was  deep  enough  in  the  working  elements  of  the 
story  to  give  it,  I  consent  to  encounter  the  risk,  which  it 
might  be  only  an  affectation  of  delicacy  to  decline. 

The  want  of  some  spacious  ornamental  ground  had  been 
the  common  regret  of  Hartford  citizens  for  many  years ;  and 
as  often  as  I  expressed  this  regret,  I  had  found  a  hearty  re- 
sponse. Turning  the  question  every  way  for  an  answer,  I 
was  drawn,  by  a  kind  of  rejecting  process  as  respects  all  oth- 
er possibilities,  to  consider  more  and  more  fixedly  the  partic- 
ular ground  since  occupied.  There  was,  in  fact,  no  other,  un- 
less we  should  take  some  distant  field  which  would  serve  al- 


THE  GROUND  CHOSEN  FOR  A  PARK.  313 

most  none  of  the  required  uses.  Here,  then,  was  the  place,  I 
concluded,  else  it  must  be  nowhere.  And  it  even  seemed  a 
fact  most  remarkable  that  we  had  a  field  so  appropriate,  re- 
served by  its  dishonor  for  a  use  so  honorable,  in  the  geo- 
graphical centre  of  the  town,  after  more  than  two  centuries 
of  occupancy ;  and  the  more  remarkable  that  it  was  laid  off 
in  town-lots  at  the  very  first  settlement,  one  of  which  was 
taken  up  by  the  first  secretary  of  the  colony,  and  another  by 
the  first  school-master. 

This  piece  of  ground  was  a  little  less  than  half  a  mile  long, 
and  comprised  between  thirty  and  forty  acres;  and  the  fine 
college  grounds  adjacent,  arranged  to  harmonize  with  the 
plan,  would  make  up  a  virtual  park  range  of  fifty  acres.  On 
the  whole,  the  amount  of  space  obtained  w^ould  do  very  well 
for  a  small  city,  and,  being  central,  it  would  be  taken  care  of 
and  kept  in  constant  use. 

Determined  thus  in  the  matter  of  locality,  I  had  none  the 
less  been  appalled  by  the  god-forsaken  look  of  the  premises. 
I  very  much  regret  that  some  photographic  picture  of  their 
condition  had  not  been  taken ;  but  even  that  could  have  given 
but  a  faint  representation  of  deformities  the  future  ages  will 
never  know  or  conceive.  The  New  Haven  railroad  spanned 
the  territory  lengthwise,  from  end  to  end,  having  a  deep  cut 
under  the  College  Hill,  and  a  high  embankment  through  the 
low  ground  on  the  east,  where  it  came  to  a  full  period  in  a 
huge,  unsightly  structure  of  wood,  standing  astride  of  the 
river,  and  serving  as  bridge,  car-house,  freight-house,  and  pas- 
senger-office. Two  lines  of  high  grading,  one  from  the  west 
end  and  the  other  from  the  east,  converged  as  curves,  at  a 
wooden -covered  bridge,  in  front  of  the  present  station  on 
Asylum  Street,  and  made  up  a  triangle  for  backing  pff  to 
Springfield  and  New  Haven.  In  the  centre  of  the  lot  were 
the  engine-house,  the  wood-work  and  iron-work  repair-shops ; 
and  back  of  the  latter,  on  the  east,  was  a  deep  gulf  or  hole, 
diked  in  by  the  embankment,  into  which  the  ashes  and  cin- 
ders were  rolling, — overhung  also,  on  the  embankment  side, 
by  a  rough  wood-shed,  standing  jjartly  on  legs,  and  having  a 
high  water -tank  and  pumping  works  on  its  eastern  end; 


314  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

which  said  hole  is  now  a  pretty  basin  or  tarn,  bordered  neat- 
ly with  turf  for  the  great  fountain.  The  waste  and  broken 
trumpery  of  the  road  were  everywhere.  And,  besides  the 
great  hole  above  named,  there  were  two  others  inside  the  em- 
bankment triangle,  and  still  another  dug  out  in  the  western 
slope  of  the  hill-ground,  to  obtain  gravel  for  the  dam  of  a 
huge  old  grist-mill  standing  on  that  border.  Around  the  mill 
were  grouped  eight  or  ten  low  tenements,  with  as  many  pig- 
sties, that  appeared  to  have  dropped  there  by  accident. 

Farther  round,  at  the  extreme  north  bend  of  the  river,  and 
directly  off  Asylum  Street,  in  front  of  the  new  Park  Church, 
all  the  garbage  and  truck  of  the  city  were  dumped,  as  in  a 
Gehenna  without  fire — shavings,  iinder-bed  fillings,  tin-waste, 
leather-cuttings,  cabbage  stumps,  hats  without  tops,  old  saddles, 
stove-pipes  rusted  out,  everything,  in  short,  that  had  no  right 
to  be  anywhere  else.  There  were  besides  on  the  premises  two 
old  tanneries,  one  falling  to  pieces,  the  other  barely  managing 
to  stand  npon  a  slant ;  and  on  a  high  clay-bank,  just  in  front 
of  the  present  Park  Kow  block,  was  a  little  African  Methodist 
Chapel, looking  out  for  prospect  on  the  general  litter  of  the  re- 
gion. And,  finally,  there  was  a  back-side  frontage  of  filthy  ten- 
ements, including  a  soap-works,  that  ran  completely  round  upon 
the  east  and  nortli-east  bank  of  the  river,  and  projected  their 
out-houses  over  it  on  brackets  and  piers — saying,  as  it  were,  to 
the  coming  ornament,  "  AVe  give  you  such  help  as  we  can!" 

Forbidding  as  the  picture  was,  I  saw^  merit  and  capacity  in 
the  ground,  and  took  up  in  earnest  the  question  how  to  ob- 
tain it.  The  railroad  company  had  already  withdrawn  to 
their  new  depot,  and  would  be  glad  to  get  all  their  shops  on 
that  side  of  the  river.  So  far  the  prospect  was  favorable.  I 
then  undertook,  by  such  ways  as  would  partly  cover  my  in- 
tention (for  if  this  were  made  public  at  the  present  stage  of 
the  question,  defeat  and  explosive  ridicule  must  end  it),  to 
sound  some  of  the  principal  owners  and  find  what  terms 
could  be  obtained.  The  grist-mill  could  be  bought  for  a  rea- 
sonable price;  and,  besides  that  and  the  railroad  property,  I 
could  get  no  terms  for  anything.  My  effort  was  blocked,  and 
nothing,  plainly,  could  be  done.    . 


MEASURES   FOR   OBTAINING   THE   LAND.  315 

At  this  point  I  opened  my  project,  as  far  as  I  must,  to  IST. 
H.  Morgan,  Esq.,  and  another  gentleman  of  the  then  domi- 
nant political  party,  expressing  the  wish  that  some  member 
of  the  Legislature  could  be  induced,  when  amending  our  city 
charter,  to  slide  in  a  provision  allowing  the  city  to  take 
ground  for  a  public  park  by  appraisal,  in  the  same  way  as 
ground  is  taken  for  railroads.  And  it  happened  shortly  af- 
ter, by  a  curious  (shall  I  say  providential?)  coincidence,  that 
our  City  Council,  balked  in  getting  land  for  an  improvement 
of  so  little  consequence  that  it  has  not  yet  been  made,  were 
petitioning  the  Legislature  for  an  amended  charter,  and  that 
Mr,  Morgan,  then  a  member  of  the  Council,  was  appointed 
to  draft  the  petition  ;  and  he  kindly  included,  in  his  article 
for  taking  land,  the  matter  of  a  park,  as  suggested.  The  de- 
sired provision  was  granted.  As  the  amended  charter  must 
be  accepted  by  a  popular  vote  of  the  cit}^,  I  was  duly  indus- 
trious with  my  friends  for  once,  the  first  and  last  time,  to 
carry,  if  possible,  a  question  of  popular  suffrage.  The  charter 
was  accepted ;  and  now  my  scheme,  thanks  to  the  Council, 
and  especially  to  Mr.  Morgan,  was  made  possible. 

Stimulated  by  the  new  law,  two  propositions  were  brought 
up  forthwith  in  the  Council  —  one  for  a  park  in  the  south 
end,  and  another  for  a  park  in  the  north  end  of  the  city — 
both  rejected,  of  course.  Now  the  time  was  come.  I  sent 
in  a  petition  to  the  Council  that  they  w^ould  hear  me  on  a 
plan  for  a  i:>ark  in  the  centre  of  the  city.  They  got  wind 
easily  of  the  place,  and  though  receiving  my  petition  with  a 
little  good-natured  laughter,  they  allowed  me  personally  a 
degree  of  consideration  I  had  not  much  right  to  expect :  they 
agreed  to  have  an  informal,  extra-legal  meeting,  and  hear  me. 

I  carried  in  a  large  map  of  the  ground,  with  all  the  walks, 
drives,  and  fountains  extemporized  on  it — a  map  which  I  now 
find,  by  comparison,  corresponds  more  closely  with  the  pres- 
ent outlines  than  could  well  have  been  expected — and  hung 
it  up  in  the  council-room.  I  then  gave  a  running  exposition 
of  the  plan  that  occupied  more  than  an  hour.  The  stress  of 
my  endeavor  was  to  raise  an  imagination  of  the  picture  it 
would  make,  so  different  from  the  filthy  picture  it  then  was ; 


316  LIFE  OF   HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

knowing  well  that,  if  the  imagination  was  carried,  the  judg- 
ment would  be.  I  took  them  on  the  high  grounds,  in  this 
manner,  to  look  down  the  sloping  lawns,  round  upon  the 
city  spires  standing  guard  in  their  places,  and  out,  tlirough 
the  street  vistas  opened  here  and  there,  on  some  of  the  fine 
frontages  presented.  I  then  passed  round  to  look  on  the 
park  itself  in  full  dress,  through  the  same  vistas  inverted ; 
making  much  here  of  the  fact  that  our  two  railroads  pass  by 
together  on  a  high  bank  just  across  the  narrow  river,  so  that 
all  travellers  and  strangers,  coming  in  or  passing  through, 
will  look  directly  across  the  lawns  and  up  the  slopes  of  Col- 
lege Hill,  deriving  thus  their  first  and  best  possible  impres- 
sions of  the  city.  I  did  not  omit,  also,  to  speak  of  the  wretch- 
ed, filthy  quarter  shortly  to  be  steaming  here,  if  this  improve- 
ment fails,  and  already  giving  notification  of  the  city  by 
smell,  and  not  by  beauty  in  the  eye.  I  seemed,  on  the  whole, 
to  have  made  an  impression  quite  as  favorable  as  I  expected. 
And  probably  it  w\as  in  half -persuaded  feeling  that  one  of 
the  rather  unilluminated  city-fathers  got  heart  for  his  gentle 
protestation,  in  passing  out,  "Why,  it  W'ill  cost  ten  thousand 
dollars !" 

At  the  next  regular  session  of  the  Council  the  question 
was  taken  up,  and  a  committee  raised  to  report  on  the  proj- 
ect, making  estimates  of  the  probable  value  of  the  proper- 
ties concerned.  The  late  D.  F.  Kobinson,  Esq.,  a  public-spir- 
ited gentleman,  favorable  to  all  real  improvements,  was  placed 
at  the  head  of  the  committee.  They  attended  promptly  and 
carefully  to  their  appointment,  expending  great  labor  in  hunt- 
ing up  the  boundaries,  ownerships,  and  titles,  and  faithfully 
appraising  the  values  of  the  thirty  or  forty  properties.  They 
made  their  unanimous  report,  November  14, 1S53,  in  favor 
of  the  proposed  improvement,  placing,  it  must  now  be  agreed, 
all  future  generations  of  the  city  under  unspeakable  obliga- 
tions for  the  services  they  freely  rendered.  .  .  . 

On  the  twenty-second  of  December  following,  the  Council 
decided  to  proceed  in  laying  off  the  park,  and,  npon  a  day 
appointed,  went  upon  the  ground  in  a  body  to  make  proc- 
lamation to  the  owners  of  their  intended  occupation.     The 


TITLES  SECURED.  317 

question  was  then  put  to  a  vote,  by  a  general  ballot  of  the 
people,  January  5, 1854,  and  the  plan  was  approved  by  a  vote 
of  nearly  three  to  one. 

It  now  remained  to  get  in  the  titles  to  the  property,  and  as 
the  matter  was  not  pressed  by  the  committee  faster  than  mat- 
ters of  only  public  interest  commonly  are,  I  made  myself  the 
two  principal  contracts  for  the  property,  comprising  more 
than  half  the  total  amount,  and  had  the  documents  prepared 
for  them,  waiting  only  execution  by  them,  in  the  forms  of 
law ;  foreseeing  that  when  this  was  done,  as  it  shortly  was, 
the  matter  would  be  fastened,  and  it  must  somehow  go  on 
to  completion. 

Absent,  after  this,  a  great  part  of  the  time  for  two  years, 
I  found,  on  ray  return,  that  nothing  had  been  done  to  get 
in  the  other  properties !  Having  no  right  of  action  at  any 
time,  except  as  from  behind  committees,  I  was  obliged  to  use 
some  caution,  lest  I  should  lose  that  rather  slender  right  by 
making  myself  an  annoyance ;  but  I  had  an  argument,  pun- 
gent enough  Avhen  quietly  put,  to  set  things  in  motion  again  : 
"  Are  you  proposing  to  lose,  for  the  city,  the  fifty  or  sixty  • 
thousand  dollars  already  expended,  or  will  you  save  it  by  go- 
ing on  to  make  it  available  ?"  Within  about  another  year's 
time  all  the  properties  were  bonght  in  by. contract  witli  the 
owners ;  as,  of  course,  they  never  could  have  been  but  for 
the  new  statute-right  of  the  charter  pressing  them  from  be- 
hind. 

The  result  was,  that  the  city  now  had  a  full  right  in  fee 
in  the  new  property,  and  not  a  mere  easement  right  that 
would  be  untransferable.  But,  behold,  the  seeming  advantage 
thus  gained  brought  in  shortly  a  new  turn  of  peril,  putting 
the  w^iole  improvement  in  jeopardy,  and  requiring  a  new 
campaign  to  save  it !  A  petition  was  brought  into  the  Coun- 
cil,  favored  by  a  sectional  influence  and  by  certain  members 
in  the  body  always  opposed  to  the  park,  to  have  the  whole 
property  sold,  as  it  could  be  at  a  good  profit,  and  a  smaller 
ground  purchased  on  the  historic  hill  of  the  Charter  Oak. 
Ao;ain  we  had  a  rather  tight  conflict  of  two  or  three  weeks  in 
the  public  papers,  and  the  peril  was  broken. 


318  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

Next  came  the  question  of  a  plan ;  where  a  prize  competi- 
tion, offered  by  the  Council,  brought  in  eight  or  ten  for  the 
judgment  of  the  plan  committee,  of  which  I  was  a  member. 
One  of  these  made  a  broad  platform  terrace  of  the  high 
gronnd,  and  a  kind  of  causeway  for  a  drive  round  the  low 
ground  on  the  river,  and  was  drawn  so  handsomely  that 
we  were  likely  to  be  taken  by  it.  Happily,  it  was  to  be 
immensely  expensive,  and  I  was  able  to  get  it  rejected ; 
promising,  if  I  might  put  the  city  engineer  at  work,  to  fur- 
nish a  plan  that  would  cost  not  more  than  twenty-five  thou- 
sand dollars.  Mr.  Marsh,  the  engineer,  did  not  profess  to 
be  an  artist,  though  it  is  much  to  his  credit  in  this  line  that 
he  suggested  and  built  the  low,  stepping-stone,  cascade  dam, 
which  is  a  very  picturesque  and  pretty  ornament.  The  plan 
was  drawn  b}^  him  as  promised,  accepted,  and  the  following 
year  executed,  under  the  supervision  of  Alderman  Jewett. 
By  no  fault  either  of  Mr.  Marsh  or  Mr.  Jewett,  the  look  was 
unsatisfactory.  The  grading  was  all  in  a  right  direction,  as 
far  as  it  went,  but  to  save  expense  too  many  lines  were  left, 
and  there  was  too  little  flow.  If  there  was  any  blame  in  the 
matter,  it  belonged  to  me ;  only  it  was  such  blame  as  had  for 
its  merit  that  we  had  escaped  by  it  an  immense  and  totally 
ruinous  blunder — a  plan  that  made  no  landscape,  but  only  an 
overdone  scene  of  spasmodic  art-violence  rather. 

If,  now",  any  apology  is  wanted  for  massing  these  particu- 
lars, it  must  be  enough  to  say  that  I  have  done  it  to  show 
how  many  things  must  be  carefully  prepared,  as  carefully 
watched,  and  persistently  pushed,  by  the  man  who  will  get 
any  city  public  into  and  through  a  great  improvement  of  this 
kind.  Wearied,  and  W'Orried,  and  hindered,  he  must  never 
sleep,  never  be  beaten,  never  desist ;  and  if,  by  a  whole  five 
years  of  toil,  he  gets  his  work  on  far  enough  to  become  an 
interest  in  itself,  and  take  care  of  itself,  he  does  well,  and 
there  may  rest.  .  .  . 

Much  anger  and  severity  have  been,  of  course,  encountered, 
and  I  have  had  my  share  of  it.  Shortly  after  the  ground  had 
been  taken,  it  happened  tliat  the  huge  old  grist-mill  at  one 
end,  and  the   soap-works  at  the   other,  were   burnt   down; 


INTEREST   IN   OTHER   PUBLIC   MATTERS.  319 

whereupon  it  was  even  cliarged  upon  nie,  in  apparent  sinceri- 
ty, by  an  anonymous  letter,  that  I  had  set  these  fires  to  help 
on  mj  project.  Now  the  park  is  universally  popular — I  do 
not  know  that  it  has  an  enemy.  Millions  of  dollars  would 
not  buy  the  property.  And  I  hear  of  it  as  being  said,  every 
few  days,  by  one  or  another  of  the  old  economic  gentlemen 
that  opposed  it  with  most  feeling,  '■'•After  all,  the  hest  invest- 
Tnent  our  city  has  ever  made  is  the  parlor  This  one  thing 
is  now  clear  to  us  all,  that  everything  in  the  outward  look  of 
our  city  has  been  improving  since  the  park  was  made.  Our 
endeavors  have  courage  in  them ;  for  we  see  that  we  can 
have  a  really  fine  city.  Indeed,  the  park  has  already  "iidded 
millions  to  the  real  estate  values  of  our  property.  .  .  . 

Yours  with  much  respect,  Horace  Bushnell. 

The  manufactures  of  the  City  of  Hartford  would,  doubt- 
less, have  prospered  much  more  greatly,  and  the  city  itself 
have  been  in  a  better  line  of  growth,  had  another  of  Dr. 
Bushnell's  pet  schemes,  that  of  bringing  down  from  Wind- 
sor the  great  water-power  of  the  Connecticut,  found  favor  in 
the  eyes  of  our  citizens.  In  the  survey  made  to  test  its  fea- 
sibility he  was  greatly  interested,  and  he  considered  the  plan 
as  one  vital  to  the  welfare  of  the  city.  As  early  as  the  year 
1847  he  had  exerted  all  his  private  influence,  and,  indirectly, 
his  public  influence  also,  to  forward  the  measure.  When,  at 
a  later  date,  it  was  again  discussed,  he  went  into  the  study  of 
the  project  thoroughly,  acquainting  himself  with  the  survey- 
ors' drawings  and  estimates,  and  familiarizing  himself  with 
every  detail,  as,  perhaps,  no  other  private  citizen  has  ever 
done.  But  he  hesitated  as  to  his  right  to  urge  again  in  pub- 
lic a  measure  of  such  magnitude. 

At  our  present  time  of  writing,  early  in  the  year  1880,  a 
measure  of  public  interest  in  Hartford,  the  bridging  of  the 
railroad-crossing  on  Asylum  Street,  has  been,  after  a  long  si- 
lence, brought  up  and  discussed  anew.  It  has  been  interest- 
ing to  find  how  often  in  the  public  meetings  Dr.  Bushnell's 
suggestions  and  plans  for  the  work  have  been  referred  to,  as 
still  having  interest  and  value  for  the  citizens  of  Hartford. 


320  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

"  lie,  being  dead,  yet  speaketh,"  even  in  these  ordinary  mat- 
ters of  practical  life. 

A  gentleman,  who  has  himself  done  much  to  forward  the 
improvements  of  our  Connecticut  towns  and  villages,  both  by 
his  writings  and  by  personal  effort — the  Eev.  K.  H,  Egleston 
— sent  to  the  Hartford  Courant,  after  Dr.  BushnelFs  death, 
this  appreciative  statement  of  what  had  been  done  by  him 
for  the  cit}'  of  his  adoption  : — 

"  No  event,  since  that  baud  of  emigrants  from  Newtown  made  their  way 
through  the  primeval  forest  and  began  the  settlement  of  Hartford,  has 
been  fraught  with  greater  interest  to  the  city  than  the  act  of  the  North 
Church,  more  than  forty  years  ago,  in  calling  and  securing  Dr.  Bushuell 
for  its  pastor.     What  a  harvest  has  come  from  that  seed  ! 

"  It  is  his  distinction  that  not  only  hj  an  unequalled  professional  emi- 
nence has  he  benefited  this  place  and  forever  linked  its  name  with  his 
own,  but  by  the  force  of  his  genius  he  has  been  a  benefit  to  the  city  in  so 
many  and  such  important  relations.  What  interest  of  Hartford  is  not 
to-day  indebted  to  him  as  a  benefactor  ?  Do  we  speak  of  schools  ?  The 
fathers  of  those  who  are  now  enjoying  our  unsurpassed  appliances  for 
public  and  general  education  know  well  that  the  city  is  indebted  to  no 
one  more  than  to  Dr.  Bushnell  for  the  new  impulse  given  to  its  schools, 
now^  more  than  twenty-five  years  ago,  which  lifted  them  to  their  present 
o-rade  of  excellence.  Do  we  speak  of  taste  and  culture  ?  Who  has  been 
a  nobler  example  and  illustration  of  both,  or  who  has  by  his  just  criti- 
cism and  various  instructions  so  aided  in  their  development  ? 

"  Do  the  citizens  of  Hartford  take  pride  in  the  knowledge  that  they 
live  in  a  beautiful  city — beautiful  not  only  in  natural  situation,  but  in  the 
style  and  disposal  of  its  public  and  private  buildings,  and  in  the  air  of 
neatness  and  thoughtful  care  which  so  generally  pervades  the  place? 
Who  has  done  more  than  Dr.  Bushnell  to  make  our  city  the  admiration 
of  the  passing  traveller  as  well  as  the  delight  of  those  who  have  it  for 
their  home  ?  The  park,  Avhich  fitly  bears  his  name,  is  only  a  conspicuous, 
instance  of  what  he  has  been  doing  for  the  beautifying  of  the  city  these 
many  years.  How  many  buildings,  public  and  private,  are  the  better  for 
his  wise  suggestions.  How  many  builders  have  profited  by  his  mechan- 
ical skill  and  his  artistic  sense.  The  very  street  paver  has  l^een  indebted 
to  him  for  some  helpful  word,  and  surveyors  and  engineers  have  found 
him  at  home  in  their  occupations,  and  often  able  to  give  them  instruction. 
And  so,  if  we  turn  to  the  business  interests  of  the  cit}',  who  of  its  older 
residents  does  not  remember  how,  years  ago,  at  a  time  when  the  impres- 
sion had  become  prevalent  that  Hartford  had  reached  its  growth— that  it 
was  declining  while  other  cities  were  outstripping  it  in  trade  and  busi- 
ness, and  the  younger  and  more  enterprising  were  beginning  to  remove 


WHAT   HE   DID   FOR   HARTFORD.  321 

to  other  and,  seemingly,  more  promising  fields  of  activity — Dr.  Busbnell 
lifted  himself  up  in  that  crisis,  and  asserted  not  only  the  ability  but  the 
duty  of  the  city  to  prosper,  and  how,  as  it  may  be  truly  said,  he  woke  the 
city  to  new  life,  and  gave  an  impulse  to  its  business  interests  which  has 
been  felt  to  this  day  ?  And  so,  not  to  speak  of  other  illustrations  of  the 
fact,  this  many-sided  man  has  made  himself  felt  in  this  city  in  every  direc- 
tion, and  in  respect  to  every  worthy  calling  and  interest,  as  no  other  man 
has  ever  done.  Hartford  has  felt  him,  feels  him  to-day  everywhere.  It 
may  be  doubted  whether  another  instance  in  our  own  history  is  to  be 
found  of  a  man  impressing  himself  in  so  many  ways,  and  with  such  force, 
upon  a  place  of  any  such  size  p.nd  importance  as  this.  Hartford  is 
largely  what  he  has  made  it." 


322  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 


CHAPTER  XYI. 

1854. 

PRIVATE  LETTERS.  —  CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  DR.  HAWES.  — 
PUBLIC  BASIS  OF  AGREEMENT.— DR.  BUSHNELL'S  POSITION 
QUESTIONED.— INTERPRETATION  BY  DR.  PHELPS.— LAST  GUN 
OF  THE  CONTROVERSY. 

The  private  letters  of  the  year  1854  are  few  in  number, 
and  bear  the  marks  of  preoccupation  and  ill-health.  From 
New  York  he  wrote,  early  in  January,  to  Mrs.  Bushnell, 
apropos  of  some  musical  pleasures  he  had  been  enjoying : — 

.  ,  ,  Thus  much  for  what,  to  you,  has  only  a  secondary  and 
small  interest.  For  the  rest,  I  will  say  that  yesterday,  Sun- 
day, was  to  me,  shut  up  in  my  prophet's  chamber,  a  really 
good  and  blessed  day,  such  a  day  as  I  have  not  had  for  a  long 
time.  Between  the  " Holy  War"  of  Bunyan  and  the  feebler 
one  of  Bushnell,  I  got  a  little  strength.  I  was  very  nigh  to 
you,  did  you  know  it  ?  Look  out  for  me,  for  I  shall  some- 
times be  closer  at  hand  than  you  think.  I  was  led  in  partic- 
ular, yesterday,  to  question  whether  I  had  not  lost  a  great  deal 
as  regards  tlie  genuineness  of  my  Christian  exercises,  by  a 
form  of  piety  living  wholly  in  this  world,  bringing  in  too  lit- 
tle the  world  to  come.  A  new  and  wholly  modern  style  of 
error,  but  one  that  may  be  even  worse  than  that  which  is  all 
in  the  future  and  looks  for  nothing  here !  How  clear  is  it 
that  we  must  be  saved  by  liope,  that  we  want  the  prospect  of 
another  state  in  the  eye  to  call  us  off  from  the  thraldom  and 
the  close  limitation  of  this  lifetime  state.  .  .  . 

To  Dr.  Bartol. 

Hartford,  January  16, 1854. 
My  dear  Friend, — I  meant  to  have  written  you  before 
this,  but,  between  my  park  and  my  sermons,  and  my  visiting 


LETTERS.  "  323 

and  my  indolence,  I  have  come  short,  By-the-way,  the  park 
is  now  carried,  and  is  to  be  a  fact, — a  very  great  thing  for 
Hartford,  much  greater  than  most  of  the  people  know. 
We  shall  have  a  pnhlic  gronnd  which,  including  that  of  the 
college,  that  is  to  be  virtually  part  of  the  same,  comprises 
fifty  acres, — larger,  as  you  will  see,  than  your  Common,  It 
became  a  tremendous  load  upon  me, — this  park  matter.  If 
I  had  known  beforehand  how  much  thought  and  anxiety  it 
would  cost,  I  am  afraid  I  should  have  played  Jonah.  But 
the  struggle  is  over,  and  abating  the  fact  that  I  have  stirred 
up  the  money-hunkers  against  me,  as  I  had  the  theological 
hunkers  before,  I  should  be  altogetlier  satisfied  and  glad. 

One  thing  I  have  learned  b}''  this  undertaking,  viz.,  to  won- 
der why  it  is  that,  as  a  Christian  teacher  and  pastor,  I  am  so 
feebly  exercised,  so  little  burdened  by  my  work.  It  fills  me 
with  doubt,  and  shame,  and  grief;  and  the  result  has  been  to 
make  me  fully  resolved  that  I  will  either  be  a  more  respon- 
sible, more  efficient  minister  of  Jesus  Christ,  or  none,  I  can- 
not shake  off  those  words  oi-  Paul,  they  are  ringing  continu- 
ally in  my  ears,  "  I  have  great  heaviness,"  etc.  This  park 
matter  has  been  a  kind  of  revelation  to  me,  which  I  pray  God 
I  may  never  forget.  Why  should  I  carry  a  park  to  bed  with 
me,  and  work  it  over  in  my  dreams  during  the  night,  and 
wake  in  it  in  the  morning,  and  yet  be  so  little  exercised  in 
the  magnificent  work  of  the  Gospel  and  the  care  of  souls? 
It  makes  me  doubt  whether,  doing  a  thing  professionally, 
we  do  not  sometimes  do  it  idly  and  perfunctorily,  as  if  we 
did  it  not.  Do  we  really  believe  that  Jesus  is  a  Saviour,  and 
that,  in  any  significant  sense  of  the  words,  he  brings  salvation  ? 

Thoughts  of  this  kind  have  been  working  in  me  of  late 
with  such  power  that  I  have  become  wholly  dissatisfied  with 
myself.  I  thought  I  meant  something  when  I  preached 
Christ  to  men ;  but  I  see  that  I  must  do  more,  that  I  must 
have  the  men  upon  my  spirit,  that  I  must  bear  them  as  a 
burden  and  hold  myself  responsible  for  them.     God  help  me ! 

I  thank  you  for  your  sermon  on  the  "  New  Planet."  It  is 
a  most  lively  and  ingenious  affair.  Ah,  these  perturbations ! 
How  much  do  they  signify  !     And  yet,  for  one,  I  should  like 


324  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

it  if  thej  were  well  over.     Give  my  love  to  your  dear  wife 

and  L ,  and  forgive  tliis  double  epistle.     I  did  not  mean 

to  run  so  far.  Yours  ever,  H.  Bushxell. 

To  the  Rev.  A.  S.  Chesebrough. 

Hartford,  January  23, 1854. 

Dear  Bkothek  C, — I  have  not  heard  from  you  for  a  long 
time,  but  I  hope  you  are  doing  well, — getting  ready  to  take 
your  place  again  in  the  good  harness  of  duty. 

These  are  getting  to  be  quite  lively  times,  ecclesiastically 

speaking.    The  H letter  affair,  arid  the  Consociation,  etc., 

have  come  to  the  light  since  I  saw  yon.  In  one  view  it  is 
very  ridiculous ;  in  another  it  is  very  sad.  l^ay,  in  still  an- 
other, it  is  sad  because  it  is  ridiculous.  May  God  in  his  mercy 
deliver  me,  as  long  as  he  lets  me  stay  in  this  life,  from  all  this 
ecclesiastical  brewing  of  scandals  and  heresies,  the  w^ire-pull- 
ing,  the  schemes  to  get  power  or  to  keep  it,  the  factions  got 
np  to  ventilate  wounded  pride  and  get  compensation  for  the 
chagrin  of  defeat,  —  all,  the  whole,  from  Alpha  to  Omega, 
Lord  save  me  from  it !  The  mournful  thing  of  it  is,  that  no 
man  can  be  in  it  and  be  in  the  love  of  God.  I  think  I  am 
certain  of  it.  How  can  a  manager  in  this  field  be  in  the 
peace  also  of  the  Spirit  ?  How  can  a  heart  burn  with  the 
holy  fire  when  the  unholy  and  earthly  is  burning  so  fiercely 
in  it? 

I  am  cheered  just  now  with  some  good  signs  appearing 
among  my  people,  and  cannot  but  hope  that  I  shall  soon  see 
a  turning  of  many  to  the  Lord.  I  have  never  seen  a  spirit 
of  prayer  in  the  brethren  more  beautifully  revealed ;  and  I 
think  I  have  some  degree  of  preparation  myself  for  the  good 
work.  Oh,  that  I  had  such  a  work  on  my  hands  for  once  as 
would  kill  my  selfishness  and  compel  me  for  a  time  to  think 
of  nothing  else !  Yours  ever,  .   H.  Bushnell. 

To  Br.  Bartol. 

Hartford,  April  20, 1854. 
My  deak  Feiend, — I  meant  to  have  acknowledged  your 
beautiful  sermon,  or  testimony  and  tribute  to  "the  good  phy- 


LETTERS.  325 

sician,"  but  I  have  been  a  good  deal  spent  and  run  out  in  the 
doing  power  hxtelj,  wliich  has  kept  back  my  good  intentions. 
I  was  exceedingly  delighted  with  this  sermon.  I  think  it  is 
one  of  the  healthiest,  best  conceived  things  you  have  ever 
done.  The  subject  is  one  of  the  richest  interest,  partly  from 
association,  perhaps,  recalling  Christ  as  minister  and  physi- 
cian, both  in  one ;  and  the  character  itself  is  one  so  genuine, 
so  honestly  and  yet  so  delicately  drawn.  I  have  a  great  fond- 
ness for  these  pluperfect  characters,  such,  I  mean,  as  have 
the  force  to  make  their  bad  or  mal- proportional  qualities 
honorable.  And  this  kind  of  Abernethy  formation,  I  believe, 
is  more  likely  to  appear  in  physicians  than  among  any  other 
class  of  men.  These  are  the  spiced  men,  and  they  carry  so 
much  of  antiseptic  influence  with  tliem,  that  it  is  quite  in 
place  to  have  them  in  sick-chambers.  I  like  such  a  kind  of 
man  for  a  physician ;  for,  if  one  must  even  die,  it  is  good  to 
die  not  only  in  the  extreme  unction  of  holy  converse  and 
song,  but  to  have  the  sense  of  a  little  of  this  world's  robust- 
ness at  hand,  and  an  occasional  crack  of  natural  force  in  the 
chamber. 

I  delivered  a  fanatical  sermon  on  the  fast-day  just  gone  by 
which  I  am  requested  to  publish,  and  if  I  am  weak  enough 
in  my  head  to  consent,  and  strong  enough  in  my  body  to 
prepare  it,  I  may  some  day  send  you  a  copy.  If  it  comes, 
take  the  precaution  to  open  your  windows  and  make  ready 
for  the  explosion. 

I  should  like  mightily  to  see  you  and  yours  here  this  spring. 
I  would  show  you  some  of  this  world's  fair  things  in  June 
that  are  not  beaten  often.  .  .  . 

Yours  ever,  H.  Bushnell. 

The  "  fanatical  sermon "  w\as  from  the  text,  "  Shall  iron 
break  the  Northern  iron  and  the  steel?"  —  a  far-sighted  ob- 
servation of  the  sectional  difficulties  growing  up  within  the 
Union,  and  an  appeal  to  Xorthei'n  men  to  oppose  a  manly 
front  to  Southern  encroachments,  to  have  done  with  all  com- 
promises, and  to  show  "the. steel"  to  all  political  gamesters 
and  plotters  of  treason. 


326  LIFE   OF   HORACE   BUSHNELL. 

To  the  Hev.  A.  S.  Chesehrough. 

Hartford,  April  20, 1854. 

My  dear  Brother  C, — It  has  just  come  back  to  me  tliat  I 
owe  you  a  letter,  and  had  meant  to  pay  the  debt  promptly. 
My  excuse  must  be  that  I  am  in  a  poor,  bankrupt  state,  and 
scarcely  able,  if  I  would,  to  pay  my  honest  debts.  All  fig- 
ure apart,  I  am  very  much  exhausted,  depressed,  hoarse,  etc., 
which  disinclines  and  incapacitates  me,  in  a  sense,  for  the 
good  I  would  do. 

It  is  a  little  singular  that,  when  God  is  vindicating  and 
clearing  me,  in  a  manner  so  conspicuous,  he  should  also  be 
taking  down  my  force  and  spirit,  and  my  consequent  enjoy- 
ment of  his  favor.  However  I  do  enjoy  it,  and  am  really 
grateful  to  him  for  his  undeserved  kindness.  I  only  do  not 
triumph,  as  I  clearly  enough  see  that  I  might,  and  in  one 
view  ought. 

You  do  not  know  that  Dr.  Ilawes  and  I  are  coming  out 
shortly  in  a  proclamation  of  peace.  The  diplomatics  are  set- 
tled already,  and  I  am  only  waiting  for  him  to  be  well  enough 
to  act,  as  he  tells  me  that  he  will.  All  this  between  us,  you 
observe,  for  the  present. 

I  am  greatly  rejoiced  to  hear  that  yon  are  confident  of  a 
complete  restoration.  Be  very  careful  now,  and  do  only  just 
what  you  may.  We  shall  be  glad,  as  yon  need  not  hear,  to 
see  you  at  any  time  and  at  all  times,  and,  if  it  happens  that 
we  cannot  always  give  you  a  home  at  a  moment's  notice, 
because  the  hotel  is  full,  we  can  tell  you  so. 

Yours  ever,  II.  Bushxell. 

The  adjustment  with  Dr.  TIawes,  here  alluded  to,  was  the 
final  result  of  a  long  correspondence,  now  reproduced  entire, 
that  all  the  facts  may  appear  in  the  clearest  light.  The  two 
omissions  made  do  not  afliect  in  any  way  the  tone  of  the  cor- 
respondence. 

Hartford,  March  20, 1854. 
Hev.  Dr.  IIawes: 

Dear  Brother, — I  have  been  greatly  pressed,  of  late,  by 
the  religious  state  of  onr  community ;  and,  as  you  are  equally 


CORRESPONDENCE   WITH   DR.  IIAWES.  327 

concerned  with  myself  for  the  common  cause,  I  have  a  right 
to  assume  that  yon  are  as  much  burdened  as  I  for  the  hin- 
drances that  may  obstruct  our  success  and  progress  in  the 
work  of  our  Master.  It  is  remarkable  that  we  have  so  many 
movings  of  spiritual  preparation  and  indications  of  promise, 
and  yet  so  little  of  momentum  or  of  real  effect.  My  own 
Christian  people  have  been  called  to  earnest  prayer  on  each 
of  the  three  successive  winters  now  past.  The  same  was 
true  of  yours,  as  I  had  opportunity  to  know,  two  years  ago ; 
and  the  same,  as  I  hear,  is  true  now.  I  have  never  seen  so 
raucli  of  a  real  spirit  of  prayer  among  my  people  as  I  have 
seen  for  the  last  two  months.  But,  in  all  these  successive 
movements  and  tokens  of  promise,  it  is  remarkable  that  some 
unseen  fatality  prevents  our  getting  on  beyond  a  certain 
point.  The  motion  drags  heavily,  like  a  loaded  coach  in  a 
miry  road. 

Keviewing  all  these  tokens,  and  asking  what  is  the  cause 
of  our  recurring  disappointments,  I  have  been  led  more  and 
more  to  the  conviction  that  the  unhappy  relations  subsisting 
between  us  and  our  churches  is  the  standing  hindrance  to 
God's  truth  in  our  community.  The  attitude  we  are  in,  even 
if  we  are  satisfied  with  it  ourselves,  or  with  ourselves  in  it,  is 
really  not  Christian  to  others.  And  it  operates  not  only  in 
those  persons  who  make  a  pretext  of  it,  or  raise  a  cavil  over 
it, — that  would  be  a  small  matter, — but  it  operates  silently 
and  unconsciously  in  those  who  think  not  of  it,  diminishing 
the  dignity  and  desecrating  the  sacredness  of  religion  in  their 
minds.  Hence  the  remarkable  want  of  true  or  tonic  force 
manifested  in  the  religious  convictions.  We  are  throwing  out 
our  coals  all  the  while  on  ice,  and  they  are  speedily  extin- 
guished. Plainly  some  impassable  hindrance  or  barrier  lies 
across  our  path,  and  I  begin  to  think  it  will  be  so,'  forbidding 
us  any  clear  progress  in  our  work,  till  our  position  as  minis- 
ters is  somehow  rectified  and  made  to  be  more  truly  Chris- 
tian.    Shall  we,  can  we  consent  to  this? 

I  know  very  well  that  you  regard  your  position  towards 
me  as  one  that  you  are  compelled  to  hold,  by  a  conscientious 
fidelity  to  the  truth.     But  I  am  only  the  more  certain,  since 

22 


328  LIFE   OF   HORACE   BUSHNELL. 

that  is  all,  that  we  might  as  well  be  at  one,  as  to  be  chained 
to  this  position  of  apparent  hostility ;  for  I  am  as  clear  as  I 
can  be  that  nothing  is  necessary  to  satisfy  you  entirely,  but 
simply  to  know  exactly  where  I  am.  I  have  always  said,  hav- 
ing never  yet  one  doubt  of  the  fact,  that  your  apprehensions 
would  utterly  vanish,  if  only  you  had  full  possession  of  my 
ground. 

[Certain  doctrinal  statements  are  omitted  here,  as  tbey  are  exactly  re- 
peated in  the  finally  published  basis  of  agreement.] 

Is  not  this  enough  ?  Suppose  you  should  have  some  diffi- 
culty in  making  all  my  representations  tally  with  this,  that 
may  be  your  difficulty,  not  mine  ;  and  I  am  certainly  entitled 
to  my  position,  the  more  entitled  that  you  have  no  distrust  of 
my  integrity,  and,  yet  more,  that  I  am  ministering  here,  side 
by  side  with  you,  under  the  same  articles.  Willing  to  do  any- 
thing in  my  power  to  settle  this  very  lamentable  difficulty,  I 
really  do  not  find  what  more  I  can  say,  with  a  proper  self- 
respect  or  with  justice  to  the  truth.  What  more  can  you  re- 
quire? May  I  ask  another  and  yet  more  careful  revision  of 
your  ground,  and  another  application  to  God  that  he  will 
help  us  to  clear  this  mournful  hindrance  to  his  cause.  To 
make  this  request  is  the  particular  object  for  which  I  write, 
determined  that  nothing  shall  be  omitted  on  my  part  by 
which  I  may  facilitate  a  restoration  of  our  unity  and  fellow- 
ship. And  this,  "  Yet  once  more,  signifieth,"  I  trust,  "  the  re- 
moving of  those  things  that  are  shaken,  that  the  things  which 
cannot  be  shaken  may  remain." 

Could  we  now  unite,  bringing  all  our  churches  into  a  hearty 
and  full  co-operation,  engaging,  if  you  please,  some  mutually 
acceptable  preacher  to  assist  us  in  some  common  exercises,  I 
believe  that  results  of  the  greatest  consequence  would  follow. 
The  very  fact  itself  would  make  a  great  and  powerful  impres- 
sion. The  city  would  be  moved,  and  effects  would  follow,  I 
am  well-nigh  certain,  that  would  strengthen  our  ministry, 
gladden  our  people,  and  give  joy  to  the  angels  of  God. 
Shall  it  not  be  so?  Let  me  hear  from  you  as  soon  as  may 
be,  and  let  the  answer  be  an  answer  of  peace.     Whatever  is 


CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  DR.  IIAWES.  329 

to  be  done  needs  to  be  done  at  once.  May  our  God  whom 
we  serve  direct  us  into  the  way  of  his  own  good  'counsel  and 
the  grace  of  his  Son. 

I  am  yours  ever,  IIokace  Bushnell, 

The  response  of  Dr.  Hawes,  sent  the  next  day,  was  as  fol- 
lows : — 

Hartford,  March  21, 1854. 
Rev.  Dr.  Bushnell  : 

Dear  Sir, — After  the  failure  of  our  repeated  attempts  at 
explanation  and  reconciliation,  some  two  years  since,  I  frank- 
ly confess  that  I  opened  and  read  your  letter,  proposing  a  new 
attempt,  with  not  a  little  faintness  of  heart.  I  see  and  I  de- 
plore, with  not  less  sensibility  than  yourself,  the  evils  result- 
ing from  the  relations  which  at  present  exist  between  us; 
but  I  cannot  feel  that  I  am  in  any  sense  responsible  for  those 
evils,  nor  do  I  see  how  it  is  in  my  power  to  change  those  re- 
lations. They  are  not  of  my  creating,  nor  are  they  for  me  to 
remove.  That  is  an  office,  I  conceive,  which,  to  a  great  ex- 
tent at  least,  lies  with  you.  I  remain  in  the  faith  in  which  I 
entered  the  ministry,  the  faith  in  which  the  Church  I  serve 
was  planted,  and  which  is  held  by  the  great  body  of  the 
Evangelical  Churches  in  New  England.  You  have  parted 
from  me  on  that  faith.  Such  is  my  opinion,  honestly  formed 
and  honestly  held ;  and  in  this  opinion  I  am  in  agreement 
with  the  great  majority  of  those  who  have  read  your  books, 
and  have  expressed  their  judgment  respecting  the  doctrines 
they  contain.  I  refer  to  your  books,  especially  to  the  first, 
"  God  in  Christ."  I  have  a  deep  conviction  that  the  teach- 
ings of  that  book  are  wrong,  entirely  wrong  on  the  main 
points  discussed.  You  give  me  credit  for  honesty  and  con- 
scientiousness in  my  convictions.  How  then  can  you  expect 
me  to  change  them  till  you  furnish  me  ground  for  so  doing  ? 
In  my  last  interview  with  you  in  relation  to  this  subject,  I 
understood  you  to  say  that  you  still  retained  the  sentiments 
advanced  in  the  volume  referred  to,  and  in  that  mind  you 
published  a  third  edition  without  retraction  or  explanation. 
Still,  as  I  assured  you  repeatedly,  I  was  and  am  willing  to 


330  LIFE   OF   HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

pass  over  the  teachings  of  your  book,  and  let  them  be  in  my 
mind  as  if  they  had  not  been  written,  and  to  meet  yon  on 
any  presently  avowed  platform  which  should  accord  with  the 
common  faith  of  our  orthodox  standards  and  ministers.  You 
made  the  attempt  kindly  and  honestly,  I  trust,  I  was  not 
satisfied.  I  saw  not  but,  in  the  several  communications  you 
made  me,  you  reaflirmed  in  substance  the  doctrines  of  your 
book.     What  more  can  be  done  ? 

You  cannot  expect  me  to  give  up  my  conscientious  con- 
victions, nor  that  I  should  stultify  myself  in  the  view  of  the 
public,  by  changing  my  relations  to  you  without  yonr  fur- 
nishing me  any  sufficient  ground  for  doing  so.     Give  me 
something  on  which  I  can  stand,  consistently  with  myself  and 
consistently  before  the  public,  and  you  wdll  not  find  me  hard 
to  be  won,  nor  reluctant  to  meet  you  as  a  brother.     I  would 
fain  have  this  urdiappy  controversy  adjusted  before  it  goes 
up  to  the  great  tribunal ;  and  I  would  willingly  do  anything 
in  my  power  to  effect  such  an  adjustment.     But  I  cannot  be 
unfaithful  to  truth ;  I  cannot  violate  my  conscience,  nor  as- 
sume a  position  before  the  public  which  should  say  yoic  are 
right  and  I  am  wrong,  though  I  would  willingly  say  that,  if 
I  could  be  convinced  that  such  is  the  fact.     I  try  to  school 
myself  very  closely  in  regard  to  this  unhappy  affair.     It  costs 
me  many  anxious  and  sorrowful  hours,  and  much  do  I  pray 
that  my  spirit  may  be  kept  right  in  respect  to  yourself  and 
yours.     I  do  not  hate  you.     I  do  not  oppose  you  by  any  di- 
rect  efforts,  nor  in   any  manner  voluntarily  throw  myself 
across  your  path.     I  keep  about  my  own  work,  and,  though 
often  greatly  tried  and  discouraged,  I  endeavor  to  do  all  the 
good  I  can  in  the  circumstances  in  which  I  find  myself  placed. 
I  have  said  I  do  not  hate  you ;  in  many  respects  I  love  you 
and  respect  you,  and  wish  you  all  happiness  in  this  life  and 
forever.     But  we  ai^e  apart,  and  I  do  not  see  how  we  are  to 
come  together.     Show  me  some  way,  if  you  can,  and  you  will 
find  me  neither  obstinate,  nor  perverse,  nor  exacting  in  my 
demands,  but  ready  to  meet  you  and  to  work  with  you  on 
the  ground  of  a  common  faith  and  in  the  service  of  a  com- 
mon Master. 


CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  DR.  HAWES.  331 

There  are  several  things  in  your  letter  on  which  I  should 
like  to  remark  if  I  had  time;  but  I  have  not.  I  have  writ- 
ten much  more  at  length  than  I  intended.  It  is  not  pleasant 
to  me,  and  I  doubt  whether  it  is  useful,  to  carry  on  corre- 
spondence of  this  kind  and  in  this  manner.  It  exhausts  my 
time,  it  tries  my  feelings,  and  I  fear  continually  that  I  may 
write  something  that  may  be  misunderstood,  or  draw  me  into 
prolonged  discussion.  To  this  I  feel  very  much  averse,  and 
must  avoid  it. 

You  know  the  position  of  my  mind,  and  I  am  too  old,  if 
there  were  no  other  reason,  to  change  it  lightly.  If  you  are 
right, — are  with  me  and  with  the  ministers  of  New  England 
wlio  hold  the  truth,  as  you  say  you  are, — you  can  easily  con- 
vince me  of  the  fact ;  but  you  must  not  refer  to  your  book 
in  proof  of  it,  nor  reaffirm  the  doctrines  taught  in  the  book. 

May  God  bless  you,  bless  us,  and  give  us  wisdom  to  know 
and  love  his  truth,  and  stand  faithfully  by  it. 

Yours  affectionately,  J.  Hawes. 

Hartford,  March  23, 1854. 
Rev.  De.  Hawes  : 

Dear  Sir, — You  w^ill  pardon  me  another  letter  if  I  excuse 
you  from  the  trouble  of  a  reply.  I  cannot  but  thank  God 
for  the  manifestly  kind  and  Christian  spirit  of  your  letter. 
.1  am  glad,  also,  to  see  that  you  are  not  insensible  to  the  sor- 
rowful hindrances  which,  between  us,  are  laid  in  the  way 
of  religious  impressions  in  our  communit3\  But  it  is  the 
more  remarkable  to  me,  on  this  account,  that  you  fail  so 
completely  to  catch  the  meaning  of  my  letter;  and  do  not 
even  notice  (that  I  can  discover)  the  advances  I  was  tender- 
ing to  relieve,  if  possible,  your  position.  I  knew  that  you 
were  wanting  something  which  you  could  accept  as  a  valid 
and  .substantial  assent  to  the  great  points  of  doctrine  sup- 
posed to  have  been  controverted  by  me ;  something,  too, 
which  you  could  use  in  a  public  way.  In  this  view  I  gave 
you  in  two  sentences  (1)  an  explicit  assent  to  the  Nicene 
doctrine  of  Trinity,  as  reaffirmed  by  the  Westminster  As- 
sembly; (2)  an  assent  equally  explicit  to  the  "equivalent  ex- 


332  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

pression  "  doctrine  of  tlie  work  of  Christ, — the  same  which  is 
commonly  held  in  New  England  in  terms  entirely  convenient 
or  consonant  to  what  I  hold  as  a  part  of  the  true  doctrine. 
Meeting  you  in  terms  like  these,  I  only  took  care  to  set  the 
statements  in  such  a  connection  or  framework  that  if  you 
should  have  a  mind  to  publish  them  it  might  read,  not  like 
something  dictated  or  prescribed,  but  like  something  sponta- 
neously offered.  And  now  you  reply,  taking  no  notice  what- 
ever of  these  advances  for  which  alone  my  letter  was  written, 
that  if  I  "  will  give  you  something  on  M-hich  3'OU  can  stand, 
some  presently  avowed  platform  whicli  shall  accord  with  the 
common  faith,"  you  will  endeavor  to  meet  me !  My  dear 
brother,  on  what  can  you  stand  ?  What  is  your  orthodox 
platform?  If  you  cannot  meet  me  in  the  Westminster  As- 
sembly doctrine  of  Trinity,  or  the  current  terms  of  the  New 
England  doctrine  of  equivalent  expression,  just  where  you 
must  accept  the  vast  majority  of  your  brethren  or  not  at  all, 
then  where  can  you  meet  me  ? 

Excuse  me  if  I  suggest  the  possibility  that  you  are  allow- 
ing things  to  hinder  you,  in  coming  to  a  right  adjustment  of 
this  question,  which  really  have  nothing  to  do  with  it — such 
as  these : 

1.  The  recollection  of  past  efforts  which  failed.  This  is  a 
new  attempt,  not  an  old  one  resumed. 

2.  The  question  of  blame,  whether  it  is  with  you  or  with, 
me.  If  with  me,  your  duty  still  is  to  catch  at  any  means 
possible  of  removing  so  great  a  scandal. 

3.  Your  consistency  before  the  public.  Tlie  question  is 
not  what  is  consistent,  but  what  is  right ;  not  wdiat  was  re- 
quired of  you  in  one  condition,  but  w^hat  is  now  required  in 
another.  Forgive  me,  then,  if  I  hear  you  with  sorrow  when 
you  talk,  as  in  your  letter,  of  "  acting  consistently  with  your- 
self before  the  public,"  and  imagining  how  the  public,  will 
say  "  you  are  right  and  I  am  wrong."  If  you  cannot  make 
your  consistency  appear  when  you  have  an  explicit  assent  to 
everything  you  have  ever  dared  to  require,  or  to  the  very 
standards  by  which  you  test  all  orthodoxy,  M-hen  or  how  can 
you  ?     I  am  quite  willing  to  risk  my  consistency  in  giving 


CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  DR.  HAWES.  333 

siicli  an  assent.  But  a  much  better  way  for  us  both  would 
be  to  let  our  cousistency  take  care  of  itself,  and  look  after 
nothing  but  our  duty  to  the  truth. 

4.  My  past  avowals  or  disavowals,  and  the  possibility  of 
reconciling  these  with  what  I  may  now  say.  If  I  have  print- 
ed a  book  that  you  regarded  as  unsound  (judging  as  you  now 
think  rightly),  and. if  still  I  meet  you  with  a  clear  assent  to 
the  very  standards  which  you  supposed  to  be  rejected,  you 
have  no  right  longer  to  repulse  me  and  cast  me  off  as  hereti- 
cal, unless  you  have  reason  to  think  that  I  am  insincere  and 
artful.  You  have  no  right,  in  other  words,  to  require,  under 
given  standards,  that  all  my  reasonings,  solutions,  and  the 
like,  shall  accord  with  yours,  or  that  they  should  not  be  con- 
trary to  yours,  and  even  contraiy,  in  your  view,  to  the  stand- 
ards assented  to.  You  cannot  fall  back  on  your  former  ad- 
verse judgment,  for  it  is  a  part  of  the  case  that  matter  sub- 
sequent has  varied  the  conditions.  You  can  only  say,  "  Here 
is  new  matter.  Retaining  my  conviction  respecting  the  old 
matter,  I  cannot  reject  the  new,  and,  though  I  cannot  recon- 
cile the  two,  I  can  admit  the  honest  absurdity  of  the  man." 

Do  me  the  favor  to  look  over  my  letter  again,  and  you  will 
see  that  you  have  a  very  different  case  on  hand  from  what 
you  have  supposed.  Do  not  foreclose  the  question  in  this 
manner,  by  assuming  the  right  to  despair.  Put  these  mat- 
ters out  of  the  question  that  so  plainly  have  nothing  to  do 
with  it,  and  take  in,  to  fill  their  places,  the  universal  grief  we 
are  to  the  best  people  in  our  churches,  the  hindrances  we  op- 
pose to  their  prayers,  the  discouragements  we  inflict  on  their 
efforts,  and  the  fact  that  not  even  a  missionary,  circulating  in 
the  lowest  tier  of  sin  and  sorrow  in  our  city,  can  there  pro- 
pose the  good  of  Christ,  without  having  your  and  my  sep- 
aration thrown  in  his  teeth.  Neither  allow  yourself  to  be 
tempted  by  what  you  suppose  to  be  a  verdict  against  me, 
passed  by  the  ministers  of  New  England.  No  such  verdict 
has  ever  been  passed,  and  you  are  greatly  deceived  if  you 
think  so.  The  noise,  as  was  natural,  was  with  you,  but  the 
feeling  and  sentiment  are  with  me — as  you  may  see  in  the 
fact  that  everything  you  attempt  against  me  is  a  failure.     I 


334  LIFE   OF   HORACE   BUSIINELL. 

sit  still  and  lose  nothing.  Your  verdict  party  agitate,  con- 
trive and  strain,  and  carry  nothing,  for  the  very  simple  rea- 
son that  the  public  mind  is  not  with  you.  And,  if  you  live 
ten  years,  you  will  hear  it  openly  confessed  that  I  have  been 
a  most  forward  and  timely  supporter  of  the  very  points  you 
have  taken  to  be  overthrown.  Not  even  your  own  people, 
now,  are  in  the  verdict  you  speak  of.  Much  as  they  love  you, 
they  almost  universally  lament  your  position  towards  nie ;  and 
when  you  can  find  a  way  out  of  it,  without  violence  to  your 
conscience,  they  will  most  heartily  rejoice. 

It  is  my  duty  to  say  that  this  present  effort  is  the  last 
which  I  ever  expect  to  make  for  tlie  healing  of  the  breach 
between  us ;  not  because  I  would  not  make  a  hundred  others, 
if  there  were  any  better  result  to  be  hoped  for,  but  I  see  not 
how  I  can  possibly  do  more  than  to  give  you  my  unqualified 
assent  to  everything  which  you  require  of  others  whom  you 
hold  in  confidence.  Henceforth  my  appeal  must  be  to  the 
public ;  for  I  am  determined  to  clear  myself  before  these 
churches  of  any  participation  in  the  blame  of  our  present  di- 
vided and  alienated  state.  With  njany  prayers,  and  a  heart 
burdened  with  sorrow  for  the  suffering  cause  of  our  Master, 
I  am  yours,  Horace  Bushnell. 

There  were  points  in  this  appeal  wdiich  Dr.  Hawes  could 
not  but  feel  keenly,  and  at  his  request  Dr.  Bushnell  prepared 
the  subjoined  letter,  as  a  basis  of  public  agreement.  It  reit- 
erates some  of  the  points  in  the  former  letters,  but  omissions 
would  not  here  be  in  order. 

To  Dr.  Hawes. 

Hartford,  April  3,1854. 
My  dear  Brother, — I  am  greatly  pressed,  and  have  been 
for  some  time  past,  by  the  religious  state  of  our  community, 
and  especially  by  the  suspicion  that  you  and  I,  who  ought,  by 
our  unity  and  earnest  co-operation,  to  be  promoters  only  of 
God's  work  (which  I  know  it  is  fully  in  our  hearts  to  be),  are 
yet,  in  fact,  and  to  a  mucli  greater  extent  than  we  should  be 
willing  to  admit,  hindrances,  instead,  and  obstructions.     It  is 


CORRESPONDENCE  WITH   DR.  IIAWES.  335 

very  true  that  there  is  no  such  personal  repngnance  or  ani- 
mosity subsisting  between  us  as  onr  separation  externally  in- 
dicates ;  but  we  are  none  the  less  responsible  for  the  indica- 
tions on  that  account.  We  have  no  right  even  to  seem  hos- 
tile ;  and  the  less  that,  by  such  appearance  of  alienation,  we 
provoke  the  cavils  of  our  community,  embolden  their  sin,  and 
weaken  the  tone  of  their  religious  convictions — discouraging, 
of  course,  the  prayers  of  our  most  faithful  brethren,  and  quite 
neutralizing,  there  is  reason  to  fear,  by  this  indirect  method, 
the  efficacy  of  our  positive  ministrations — all  which,  I  am  sure, 
is  not  less  painful  to  you  than  to  me.  It  is  unworthy  of  our 
character  as  Christian  ministers  ;  and  I  have  come  to  the  very 
deliberate  conclusion  that,  whatever  occasion  it  may  seem  to 
have  had,  we  have  reached  a  point  where  it  is  clearly  unnec- 
essary to  be  continued  longer. 

I  have  uniformly  disclaimed  the  constructions  put  on  the 
language  of  my  books  in  the  allegations  of  my  brethren  ;  and 
the  opinions  most  prominent  with  them  as  grievances,  or  de- 
partures from  the  faith,  I  have  as  uniformly  and  peremptori- 
ly disavowed.  And  this,  according  to  all  usage  in  matters  of 
impeachment,  is  a  sutKcient  and  final  answer.  Still,  I  am  not 
unwilling  to  give  you  assurances  more  definite  and  positive. 

The  two  points  in  regard  to  which  you  were  at  first  dis- 
turbed on  my  account,  were  the  Trinity  and  the  Atonement. 
As  regards  the  first,  I  did  suppose  myself,  when  I  published 
my  first  book,  that  without  rejecting  a  trinity  as  one  of  the 
highest  and  even  most  practical  truths  of  religion,  I  had  bro- 
ken loose  from  any  particular  doctrine  of  trinity  contained  in 
the  so-called  orthodox  formulas.  That  you  should  have  taken 
up  a  like  conviction  with  myself  is  certainly  not  remarkable. 
But  I  afterwards  found,  on  a  more  deliberate  historic  investi- 
gation, that  instead  of  rejecting,  as  I  had  supposed,  and  w^as 
quite  willing  to  have  others  understand,  the  Nicene  doctrine, 
I  had  actually  come  into  it,  only  from  another  quarter.  Ac- 
cordingly, if  now  I  say  that  I  assent  to  this  formula  of  trini- 
ty, in  its  true  historic  sense,  as  a  doctrine  of  eternal  gener- 
ation, assenting,  of  course,  to  the  Westminster  Confession, 
which  is  only  an  abridged  and  less  complete  exposition  of 


336  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

the  same,  I  think  I  may  assume  that  your  difficulties  on  this 
liead  must  be  entirely  removed. 

Your  ground  of  concern  is  thus  narrowed  down  to  the  sin- 
gle matter  of  the  Atonement.  On  this  point  I  never  supposed 
that  I  had  cast  away  anything  realhj  held  by  the  adherents  of 
any  Church  doctrine ;  though  it  is  exceedingly  difficult  to  say 
what  the  Church  doctrine  is.  I  supposed  that  I  was  only  re- 
vising the  form,  not  that  I  was  reducing  or  changing  the  sub- 
stance. I  certainly  was  not,  and  am  not  now,  insensible  to  the 
immense,  all-inclusive  import  of  this  great  Christian  truth, 
and  am  therefore  as  little  disposed  to  complain  that  you  are 
alive  to  its  paramount  consequence,  and  set  yourself,  with  the 
utmost  fidelity,  or  even  jealousy,  to  watch  for  its  safety.  Let 
me  try,  then,  if  I  cannot  satisfy  you  here. 

I  could  offer  you  here  my  acceptance  of  the  25th  Answer 
of  the  Sliorter  Catechism,  regarding  the  office-work  of  '"  Christ 
as  a  priest,"  in  precisely  the  sense  given  it  by  Dr.  Jonathan 
Edwards  the  younger,  in  his  second  sermon  on  the  Atonement. 
I  could  also  accept  the  33d  Answer  on  the  subject  of  "Justi- 
fication by  Faith,"  without  any  such  peremptory  denial  of  the 
"imputed  righteousness"  as  is  common  with  the  ministry  of 
New  England,  and  certainly  without  any  qualification  that 
will  not  leave  it  standing  as  a  most  practical  Christian  truth. 
I  see  not,  therefore,  how  you  can  think  it  necessary  to  ray 
safety  that  I  should  be  more  literally  squared  by  the  Cate- 
chism than  Dr.  Edwards,  or  more  truly  in  it  than  the  living 
ministers  of  New  England  by  still  another  degree. 

But  that  I  may  leave  you  still  less  room,  if  possible,  for 
concern,  I  will  go  farther,  giving  you  as  a  volunteer  expres- 
sion of  my  faith  on  this  head:  —  That  the  work  of  Christ, 
viewed  in  its  relation  to  the  law  of  God,  is  that  by  which  the 
forgiveness  of  sins  is  made  compatible  with  its  integrity  and 
authority;  that  Christ,  to  this  end,  is  made  under  the  law — 
made  sin  knowing  no  sin  himself,  receiving  the  chastisement 
of  our  peace,  suffering  and  dying  as  a  sacrifice  for  the  sins  of 
the  world — in  all  which  he  is  set  forth  as  a  propitiation  to  de- 
clare the  righteousness  of  God  in  the  remission  of  sins  ;  where- 
by the  law  broken  is  as  effectually  sanctified  and  sustained  in 


CORRESPONDENCE   WITH   DR.  IIAWES.  33  < 

the  view  of  liis  subjects,  and  his  justice  as  fully  displayed  as 
they  would  be  by  the  inlliction  of  tlie  penalty  ;  so  that,  on  the 
ground  of  the  sacrifice  made  by  Christ  and  received  l)y  faith, 
we  are  justified  and  accepted  before  God. 

Considering  now  the  very  qualified  respect  I  have  to  for- 
mulas and  confessions,  I  hope  you  will  take  these  avowals  as 
being  only  a  more  decided  proof  of  my  personal  respect,  and 
the  sincerity  of  my  desire  for  the  peace  and  the  restored 
unity  of  the  body  of  Christ.  If  you  can  find,  in  what  I  have 
advanced,  assurances  that  will  justify  the  resumption  of  our 
former  relations  of  amity  and  confidence,  I  am  sure  that  you 
will  hasten  to  profess  your  satisfaction  and  congratulate  our 
churches  on  the  settlement  of  our  distractions,  and  the  re- 
moval of  those  bars  to  fellowship  by  which  their  prayers  and 
our  efforts  have  unhappily  so  long  been  hindered.  Nothing 
will  give  me  so  great  pleasure  as  to  add  my  assistance  and 
sympathy  to  the  support  of  your  advancing  age  and  closing 
ministry,  unless  it  be  that  I  may  also  have  your  counsel  and 
confidence  to  support  the  conscious  ill-desert  and  weakness 
of  my  own.  If  then  God  permits  us  now  once  more  to  be 
united  in  a  covenant  of  peace,  let  it  be  in  the  prayer  that  it 
may  be  an  everlasting  covenant,  never  to  be  broken.  In  that 
love  which  is  the  proper  seal  of  such  a  covenant,  and  a  bond 
of  all  perfectness  in  the  observance, 

I  am  yours,  Horace  Bushnell. 

This  letter,  and  the  reply  of  Dr.  Hawes,  were  printed  to- 
gether in  the  Religious  Herald.  Of  the  latter  —  part  of 
w4iich  was  a  lengthy  discussion  of  doctrines — we  will  repeat 
only  the  closing  sentences,  as  fairly  including  bis  main  points, 
and  indicating  the  more  gracious  feeling  to  which  he  had 
been  won. 

"In  saying  this,  I  deem  it  due  to  myself  to  add  that  I  am 
not  to  be  understood  as  having  changed  my  views  as  to  the 
main  teachings  of  your  book.  I  pass  them  by  as  what  I  can- 
not accept  for  truth,  hastening  to  redeem  my  pledge  to  meet 
you  on  a  presently  avowed  platform  of  doctrine,  which  I 


33S  LIFE    OF   HORACE   BUSIINELL. 

deem  sound  and  scriptural ;  and  I  trust  it  will  be  found  a 
platform  on  which  we  shall  both  be  \villing  to  stand  and  co- 
operate, during  the  brief  period, — brief  to  me  at  least  it  must 
be, — in  which  we  may  be  continued  in  the  vineyard  of  our 
Master.  And  sure  I  am  that  my  sun  will  go  down  brighter, 
and  I  shall  leave  this  much-loved  field  of  my  labors  and  my 
prayers  with  a  happier  mind  and  more  cheering  hopes  if,  as 
I  close  my  course,  I  may  think  of  these  dear  churches  of  our 
Lord  as  rooted  and  grounded  in  the  truth,  and  their  pastors 
as  happily  united  in  fellowship  and  love,  and  contending  ear- 
nestly for  the  faith  once  delivered  to  the  saints. 

Your  brother  in  Christ,  J.  Hawses. 

Thus  was  established,  finally,  a  practical  basis  of  co-opera- 
tion in  ministerial  work.  But  Dr.  Hawes  was  not  one  to  do 
things  by  halves,  and  he  allowed  himself  to  slide,  by  imper- 
ceptible degrees,  into  a  heartily  fraternal  relation  with  Dr. 
Bushnell.  It  took  time  to  eifect  this,  but  the  final  result  was 
a  genuine  friendship. 

Dr.  BushnelFs  letter  has  been  considered  by  some  of  his 
Unitarian  friends  as  equivalent  to  a  recantation  of  a  part  of 
his  former  statements,  or  at  least  as  a  yielding  of  new^  ground 
which  he  had  occupied.  That  he  did  not  so  consider  it  him- 
self w^e  have  his  own  most  unequivocal  assertion.  We  have 
read  in  his  private  letter  to  Dr.  Hawes,  under  date  March  23d, 
one  clause  which  is  doubtless  the  key  to  his  position  in  this 
matter.  He  says,  "  You  have  no  right  to  require,  under  given 
standards,  that  all  my  reasonings,  solutions,  and  the  like,  shall 
accord  with  yours,  or  that  they  should  not  be  contrary  to 
yours,  and  even  contrary,  in  your  view,  to  the  standards  as- 
sented to."  We  must  remember  that  Dr.  Bushnell  had  nev- 
er ceased  to  consider  himself  orthodox  according  to  the  an- 
cient standards ;  in  fact,  that  he  felt  it  to  be  his  mission  to 
rescue  certain  important  truths  of  orthodoxy  from  the  mire 
into  which  they  had  fallen.  These  doctrines  in  their  original 
shape  were,  in  his  opinion,  purer  and  more  free  from  objec- 
tionable features  than  New  England  theology  had  left  them. 
At  the  same  time,  it  is  evident  that,  in  renovating  these  old 


HIS   POSITION   AMONG   THEOLOGIANS   DEFINED.         339 

truths,  lie  had  breathed  into  them  more  of  his  individual  vi- 
tality than  he  was  himself  quite  aware  of.  There  has  been 
no  better  statement  made  of  his  mental  position,  relative  to 
that  of  other  theological  thinkers,  than  is  .contained  in  the 
following  paragraph  by  Dr.  Austin  Phelps,  of  Andover : — 

"  He  honestl}'^  believed  that,  in  his  divergence  from  the 
popular  theory  of  the  Atonement,  he  retained  all  that  was 
essential  to  a  saving  faith.  Not  only  this,  but  he  believed 
that  he  retained  more  of  truth  than  his  critics  did :  his  diver- 
gence was  no  divergence,  but  only  a  deepening  of  the  old 
dogma;  it  was  a  delving  into  a  vein  of  underlying  truth. 
More  even  than  this ;  he  thought  that  he  was  nearer  to  the 
fountain-head  of  the  very  doctrine  which  his  critics  were  try- 
ing to  conserve  than  they  were  themselves.  In  their  imag- 
ined conflict  with  himself,  he  thought  that  to  a  large  extent 
they  battled  with  men  of  straw  of  their  own  creating.  He 
could  afford,  therefore,  to  sj^eak  very  genially  of  his  oppo- 
nents. They  were,  in  his  view,  unconscious  workers  with  him, 
so  far  as  they  knew.  The  difference  between  him  and  them 
was  only  that  he  knew  much  more.  His  drill  had  pierced  a 
deeper  vein  of  purer  gold.  He  had  '  entered  into  the  springs 
of  the  sea,'  and  discovered  '  the  way  where  light  dwelleth.' 
They  preached  Christ,  but  he  more  profoundly.  '  What  then  ? 
Notwithstanding,  every  way,  Christ  is  preached,  and  I  rejoice.' 
Such  was  his  apostolic  mood." 

How  this  apostolic  mood,  which  sustained  him  throughout 
his  years  of  trial,  was  reached  and  held,  may  be  gathered  from 
this  quotation  from  one  of  his  sermons : — 

"Nothing,  plainly,  but  some  inspiration,  or  some  new  im- 
pulsion of  love,  such  as  puts  the  soul  at  one  with  all  God's 
character  and  future,  can  possibly  settle  our  applications  of 
duty,  and  give  ns  confidence  in  them.  And  this  is  what  ev- 
ery Christian  has  found  many  times,  if  not  always,  in  his  own 
experience.  Thus,  in  some  trying  condition,  where  he  has 
not  been  able  by  the  understanding  to  settle  any  wise  course 
of  proceeding,  how  very  clear  has  everything  been  made  to 
him,  step  by  step,  by  the  simple  and  consciously  single-eyed 
impulse  of  love  to  his  Master.     And  when  all  is  over,  when 


34:0  LIFE   OF   HORACE   BUSHNELL. 

his  crisis  is  past,  his  course  fought  out,  his  adversaries  con- 
founded, his  cause  completely  justified,  his  sacrifice  crowned, 
how  plain  is  it  to  him  that  he  has  been  guided  by  a  wisdom 
in  his  loving  affiuities,  which  he  had  not  in  the  reasons  of  his 
nnderstanding ;  all  in  a  way  so  easy  as  to  be  even  an  aston- 
ishment to  himself.  Not  to  say  this,  my  brethren,  out  of  my 
own  experience,  would  be  to  withhold  a  good  confession  that 
is  due.  All  our  best  determinations  of  duty  are  those  which 
come  upon  us  in  the  immediate  light  of  our  iinion  to  Christ." 
The  last  measure  in  the  Bushnell  case  adopted  by  "Fair- 
field West"  was  in  addressing  to  the  General  Association, 
meeting  at  New  Haven,  in  July,  1854,  a  set  of  resolutions 
with  long  preamble,  "  requesting  that  body  to  cease  from  ap- 
pointing persons  to  certify  to  the  standing  of  ministers  in  its 
connection,  and  submitting  that  if  such  certificates  are  given 
we  cannot  be  responsible  for  them."  They  also  contrived,  by 
implication,  to  make  the  acceptance  of  their  delegates  by  the 
Association  dependent  upon  the  adoption  or  admission  of  the 
resolutions.  The  whole  tone  of  the  document  was  so  disre- 
spectful to  the  body  as  to  provoke  general  indignation  ;  and  it 
was  proposed  either  to  taljle  the  resolutions,  or  to  refuse  to 
receive  the  delegates.  Dr.  Bushnell  said,  "  My  views  do  not 
exactly  correspond  with  either  of  these  proposed  measures. 
I  would  not  lay  the  resolutions  on  the  table,  and  pass  them 
in  silence,  as  if  afraid.  Neither  let  us  have  any  altercation 
with  those  five  men  who  constituted  the  majority  of  '  Fair- 
field West '  about  our  character.  It  will  stand  without  their 
endorsement.  I  would  rather  introduce  a  resolution  to  this 
effect : 

''Besolved,  That  inasmuch  as  our  brethren  of  '  Fairfield  West'  have  so 
lost  their  confidence  in  this  body,  as  appears  by  their  resolutions,  as  to 
be  conscientiously  fixed  in  the  opinion  that  its  certificates  and  recom- 
mendations are  no  longer  properly  entitled  to  respect ;  and  since,  also, 
they  ought  not  to  be  compelled,  by  reason  of  their  nominal  connection 
•with  the  body,  to  lend  their  implied  sanction  to  its  character,  it  is  here- 
by ordered  that  the  resolutions  offered  by  them  be  entered  on  the  rec- 
ords, and  published  with  the  minutes  of  the  Association." 

This  resolution  not  meeting  with  assent,  and  debate  grow- 


SPEECH   BEFORE   THE   GENERAL  ASSOCIATION.  341 

ing  general  and  feeling  warm,  as  tlie  true  character  of  the 
overture  became  apparent,  Dr.  Bnshnell,  while  offering  a 
slightly  amended  form  of  his  resolutions,  spoke  substantially 
as  follows : — ■ 

"  I  am  placed,  you  perceive,  Mr.  Moderator,  in  the  somewhat  singular 
attitude  of  apparent  concert  with  my  brethren  of  '  Fairfield  West ;'  for 
I  feel  obliged^if  not  in  their  behalf,  yet  as  a  matter  of  taste,  to  prefer 
a  milder  and  more  respectful  treatment  of  their  resolutions  than  that 
which  is  advised  by  your  committee.  It  could  hardly  be  expected  that 
I  should  be  found  acting  against  those  brethren  who  have  been  my 
friends  and  protectors  in  this  body,  or  maintaining,  though  it  be  only  in 
ajjpearance,  the  side  of  their  accusers  against  them.  And  I  sliould  take 
any  course  with  the  greatest  reluctance  that  might  seem  to  indicate  a 
want  of  gratitude  to  them;  for  the  manner  in  which,  without  any  assent 
to  my  particular  opinions,  or  consent  in  them,  they  have  stood  fast  by 
my  personal  rights  as  a  Christian  brother,  under  the  terms  of  order  es- 
tablished by  our  ecclesiastical  system,  has  placed  me  under  obligations 
to  them  of  respect  and  endearment  which  I  can  never  forget.  But  I  am 
only  the  more  sure,  on  this  account,  that  they  will  bear  with  me  in  the 
course  I  take  and  the  sentiments  I  am  going  to  express,  because  they 
know,  and  have  so  deeply  felt  themselves,  how  little  reason  I  may  have 
to  be  forward  in  asserting  the  honors  of  this  body  and  vindicating  the 
right  of  its  proceedings.  It  will  also  be  noted  that  it  is  the  body,  not 
my  particular  friends  just  referred  to,  that  is  stigmatized  in  the  resolu- 
tions of  the  Fairfield  brethren  ;  and  towards  that,  regarding  its  unhappy 
meddling  in  my  case  for  the  last  five  years,  I  feel  constrained  to  admit 
that  I  am  moved  with  as  little  sense  of  obligation  as  possible.  I  owe 
the  body  nothing  save  what  I  owe  it  in  the  terms  of  patience  and  for- 
giveness. 

"At  the  same  time,  I  cannot  but  regard  the  resolutions  I  have  pro- 
posed as  affirming  a  more  honorable  and  dignified  position  for  the  body 
than  the  resolution  offered  by  your  committee.  Tlie  brethren  of  Fair- 
field tell  you  plainly,  and  without  any  show  of  disguise  or  softening  of 
respect,  that  your  certificates  are  unreliable  and  worthless.  Would  it 
not  be  a  little  more  dignified,  if,  instead  of  protesting,  in  this  rather 
inetficient  manner,  that  you  are  orthodox,  reliable,  and  responsible,  you 
were  simply  to  say, '  Let  your  impeachment  have  the  weight  your  names 
can  give  it,  and  we  will  publish  it  for  you  in  the  bargain.'  And  this  ex- 
actly is  the  ground  proposed  to  be  taken  in  the  resolutions  I  have  offer- 
ed. You  throw  yourselves  upon  your  character.  When  these  five  breth- 
ren tell  you  that  they  '  cannot  be  responsible  for  your  certificates  longer,' 
you  reply, '  We  excuse  you,  then,  and  we  publish  your  excuse.'  This,  too, 
is  entirely  respectful  and  even  kind  to  them ;  for  there  is  no  word  of 


342  LIFE  OF   HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

rhetoric  or  sarcasm  iu  such  a  disposition  of  their  resohitions :  you  simply  ■ 
give  them  what  they  ask,  and  nothing  else.  It  is  very  true  that  the  po- 
sition they  will  be  in  is  a  hard  one  for  any  five  men,  however  distinguish- 
ed, to  maintain ;  but  since  it  is  exactly  what  they  ask  themselves,  they 
certainly  will  not  shrink  from  it.  When  first  I  heard  of  these  resolutions, 
I  raised  the  inquiry  what  course  might  best  be  taken  in  regard  to  them, 
and  I  came  very  soon  to  the  conclusion  that  the  course  I  have  now  pro- 
posed would  be  most  dignified  in  the  body,  fairest  to  the  Fairfield  breth- 
ren, and  most  likely  to  make  a  peaceable  issue  of  this  very  unhappy  dis- 
order. 

"  Bear  with  me,  brethren,  if  I  suggest  that  you  too  can  much  better  af- 
ford to  take  your  position  of  dignity  by  assumption,  than  to  make  up  an 
issue  of  fact  on  the  real  merit  of  your  course  as  a  body  in  respect  to  this 
matter.  It  certainly  does  not  become  you,  at  this  stage  in  your  proceed- 
ings, to  be  over-sensitive  to  the  impeachment  of  the  Fairfield  brethren. 
They  did  you  the  greatest  affront  when  they  began  to  ask  you  to  do  a 
Wrong;  not  now,  when  they  complain  that  you  would  not  do  it!  First 
they  commenced  their  action  here  against  me,  next  against  my  Associa- 
tion, and  now  they  close  by  an  assault  upon  your  body  itself,  that  you 
would  not  do  their  bidding.  Until  now  you  have  heard  them  with  a  de- 
gree of  patience  and  a  show  of  respect.  You  have  not  dared,  apparently, 
to  confront  them  and  dismiss  them,  lest  some  great  disaster  should  fol- 
low. You  have  therefore  suffered  yourselves  to  be  hectored,  and  threat- 
ened, and  worried,  and  twisted  all  this  time  by  their  agitations,  contriv- 
ing always  by  what  compromises  of  order  and  ambiguities  of  language 
to  get  rid  of  their  importunities ;  but  now,  when  their  assault  is  with- 
drawn from  an  individual  or  district  association  and  turned  upon  you ; 
now,  when  they  have  spent  their  show  of  strength  on  humbler  and  less 
capable  oppositions,  and  turned  their  w^eakness  on  your  body  itself,  you 
begin  to  show  your  impatience  of  the  disrespect  of  their  language.  It 
is  all  too  late,  my  brethren ;  the  time  has  gone  by  for  taking  any  such 
attitude.  Doubtless  there  is  something  respectable  in  confronting  the 
strong  and  subduing  their  assaults ;  but  to  spend  your  strength  on  the 
weak,  and  scent  oftences  in  their  words,  which  but  for  their  weakness  you 
would  never  think  to  rebuke,  is  not,  I  am  sure,  any  point  of  dignity. 
Better  is  it  also,  and  worthier  of  respect,  to  resent  the  wrongs  of  others 
to  which  they  would  make  you  a  party,  than  to  wait  in  patience  or  par- 
tially to  connive  with  them  till  the  wrongs  are  put  on  you. 

"  Let  me  show  you  by  a  brief  recital  how  you  stand  related  to  these 
brethren.  I  published  a  book  which  many  declared  to  be  heretical.  My 
Association  immediately  took  it  up,  in  exact  conformity  with  the  thir- 
teenth Article  of  Discipline,  to  inquire  whether  there  was  'just  occasion' 
iu  the  book  for  a  presentment  to  Consociation  for  trial.  This  prelimi- 
nary or  grand-jury  inquest  of  our  system  was  continued  for  six  months. 
Evci-y  point  was  carefully  debated.     I  wrote  to  the  extent  of  a  volume, 


SPEECH   BEFORE   THE   GENERAL   ASSOCIATIOX.  343 

aud  read  before  the  body,  that  they  might  have  my  positions  more  per- 
fectly. And  finally  the  inquest  Avas  closed,  in  a  vote  of  seventeen  to 
three,  that  there  was  'no  just  occasion'  to  present  me.  This,  according 
to  our  system,  was  the  finality  of  the  case ;  there  was  no  other  method 
of  instituting  proceedings  against  me.  Then  came  the  '  Fairfield  West ' 
Association  to  mine  in  a  bitter  complaint,  insisting  that  it  should  recon- 
sider and  reverse  its  proceedings  !  My  Association  replied  that,  holding 
exactly  the  same  doctrines  with  their  brethren,  they  had  formed  a  difl'er- 
ent  judgment  of  my  position  as  related  to  those  doctrines,  and  that,  inas- 
much as  their  finding  was  in  the  nature  of  a  'judicial  proceeding,'  they 
had  no  longer  even  a  right  to  revise  it,  unless  some  new  testimony  was 
adduced.  But  the  Fairfield  l^rethren  could  not  rest  here.  The  Central 
Association  of  Hartford  must  not  only  hold  their  doctrine,  but  must 
judge  their  judgment  under  it !  Accordingly,  in  this  very  presumptu- 
ous and  disorderly  demand,  they  came  to  you,  complaining  to  you,  and 
insisting  that  you  should  take  up  their  difficulty.  You  knew  that  their 
application  was  itself  a  disorder,  and  that  the  subject  was  one  over 
which  neither  you  nor  they  had  any  jurisdiction  ;  but  you  did  not  bold- 
ly say  it,  and  peremptorily  dismiss  the  application.  You,  in  fact,  allowed 
your  body  every  year  to  be  used  as  an  instrument  in  their  unlawful  agi- 
tations, and  so  to  become  a  public  vehicle  of  slander  against  one  of  your 
brethren.  I  complained  to  you,  as  a  humble  individual  entitled,  at 
least,  to  the  protection  of  order,  but  you  did  not  seem  to  hear  me — as 
I  think  you  will  to-day.  You  debated,  contrived,  turned  the  supposed 
heresy  round  and  round,  looked  at  it  Avith  a  degree  of  solemnity  which 
said  'it  is  a  fact;'  almost  said  the  same  in  form,  but  did  not  say  it;  al- 
most blamed  my  Association,  but  did  not  blame  them ;  almost  recom- 
mended them  to  present  me  for  a  trial,  because  of  the  outward  dissatis- 
faction (that  is,  without  the  'just  occasion'  of  the  platform  and  because 
of  the  unjust  occasion)  ;  but  you  did  not  quite  do  this.  And  so,  under 
manifold  twistings  of  semblance  and  compromise,  you  have  continued 
unto  this  day,  taking  no  decided  attitude,  and  standing  for  no  principles 
of  order.  ]My  case  had  long  ago  reached  a  finality,  but  you  could  not 
say  it.  The  consequence,  accordingly,  has  been, — I  hope  you  will  under- 
stand how  much  I  mean  when  I  say  it, — that  I  have  had  this  body,  which 
ought  to  have  been  my  protector,  together  with  the  Fairfield  Associa- 
tion, on  my  back  for  the  last  five  years.  And  you  had  no  right  to  be 
there !  While  I  have  been  bearing  you  thus  in  silence,  with  none  but 
God  and  the  truth  to  sustain  my  integrity,  you  have  allowed  this  body, 
by  so  many  agitations,  to  do  all  it  could  to  break  down  my  character  as 
a  minister  and  blast  the  public  confidence  in  me.  And  not  only  so,  but 
you  suff"ered  these  persecutions  to  go  so  far,  at  one  time,  that  my  church, 
having  no  particular  dissatisfaction  with  our  Consociation  of  churches, 
were  obliged  either  to  withdraw  from  the  Consociation  or  else  to  go  into 
a  regular  campaign,  polling  the  churches  of  a  large  region  for  delegates, 

23 


344  LIFE   OF   HORACE   BUSHNELL. 

and  sustaining  tlie  fight  of  a  wliole  year  (for  wliicli  I  tliank  God  tliey 
had  no  taste),  in  order  to  get  a  verdict  far  less  entitled  to  respect  than 
the  one  I  had  obtained  already. 

"  That  they  Avould  have  carried  such  a  verdict  there  is  no  douljt ;  for 
there  has  never  been  a  time  Avhen  they  were  not  certain  of  a  vote  of  the 
Consociation  in  my  favor  of  at  least  two  to  one  ;  but  they  had  no  charac- 
ter to  spend  in  such  a  contest,  and  a  good  deal  that  I  was  not  willing 
they  should  spend  in  a  manner  so  gratuitous,  and  to  satisfy  a  demand  so 
plainly  revolutionary.  I  therefore  consented  to  their  withdrawal  from 
the  Consociation.  In  all  which  you  may  see  that,  by  your  own  neglect 
of  order,  you  have  compelled  one  of  your  best  and  most  orderly  churches 
to  sunder  the  bonds  of  the  platform,  and  take  itself  out  of  the  reach 
of  the  agitations  covered  and  nourished  by  your  indecision.  I  submit 
whether  now  it  becomes  you,  at  the  closing  up  of  such  a  history,  to  be 
over-sensitive  to  the  affront  put  upon  you  by  the  brethren  from  Fairfield 
in  their  resolutions.  The  document  they  send  you  is  one  that  you  have, 
in  fact,  been  asking  for  all  this  time ;  and  when  they  come  and  lay  it  on 
your  table,  it  should  seem  to  be  only  the  natural  termination  of  your 
course.  You  never  meant  to  engage  in  their  cause,  or  take  ground  with 
them;  but  they  hoped  much,  and  rightly,  from  your  indecision — which 
hope  is  now  disappointed. 

"I  have  only  to  add  that  while  this  agitation  has  been  aimed  at  me,  it 
Las  also  laid  its  stress  and  based  its  expectation  on  the  force  it  could  ar- 
ray against  the  venerated  father  in  my  Association,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Porter, 
who  has  been  foremost  and  most  responsible  in  all  the  proceedings  of  the 
body  concerning  my.  impeachment.  He  proposed  the  inquiry  exactly  as 
the  platform  required.  He  led  the  investigation  and  reported  the  issue, 
faithful  equally  to  the  truth,  the  oi'der  of  the  churches,  and  to  me ;  and 
the  effort  has  been  to  throw  your  body  upon  him,  and,  if  possible,  break 
down  the  confidence  of  his  character  and  the  authority  of  his  judgments. 
But  the  day  of  his  honor  is  now  come,  and  it  is  to  be  seen  that  in  the 
time  of  his  age  he  has  won  the  crown  of  age,  the  brightest  and  most 
honorable  crown  of  his  life.  Now  appears  the  true  wisdom  of  a  mind 
so  tempered  in  the  truth  as  not  to  be  incapable  of  enduring  other  and 
different  forms  of  thought.  Here,  too,  shines  the  honor  of  that  fidelity 
which  takes  responsibilities  when  they  come,  and  is  silent  after  they  are 
discharged.  Doubtless  you  have  caused  him  many  painful  struggles, 
and  I  suppose  he  has  many  times  blamed  that  wavering,  irresponsible 
course  by  which  you,  as  a  body,  have  turned  so  much  of  public  odium  on 
his  head.  But  tlie  greatness  of  worth,  the  grandeur  of  true  honesty,  the 
unconquerable  force  of  modesty,  are  now  proved ;  and  it  is  shown,  as  clear- 
ly as  it  may  be,  that  no  agitations,  or  criminations,  or  combined  forces  of 
assault,  whether  here  or  elsewhere,  can  have  jDower  against  a  man  who  is 
armed  before  God  in  the  spiritual  integrity  of  his  truth." 


LETTER.  •  345 

Tills  was  the  last  shot  of  the  long  and  weary  battle,  and  in 
one  sense  it  was  almost  his  first.  At  last,  and  most  gladly, 
we  may  drop  the  history  of  controversy,  and  turn  our  eyes  to 
tlie  ripe  fruition  of  peaceful  years. 

In  iJ^ovember  he  published  in  the  New  Englander  an  arti- 
cle on  the  theme  around  which  his  thoughts  were  so  often  re- 
volving,—" The  Christian  Trinity  a  practical  Truth."  The 
labor  of  preparing  his  lectures  on  "The  Supernatural"  went 
on  constantly,  and  absorbed  his  best  strength  and  thought. 


To  the  Rev.  A.  S.  Cheselrough. 

Hartford,  December  15, 1854. 
My  deae  Friend, — I  received  a  very  kind  letter  from  you 
some  weeks  ago,  which  I  have  not  answered.  I  hope  you 
will  excuse  me  on  the  ground  of  my  many  infirmities.  The 
fact  is,  that  for  the  last  seven  or  eight  weeks  I  have  been 
quite  disabled,  having  preached  only  twice  in  that  time.  The 
mischief  began  as  an  influenza,  and  ran  off  into  bronchitis. 
In  the  latter  form  it  sticks  fast.  I  am  doubting  now  whether 
I  must  not  quit  the  field  and  go  off  to  some  other  climate  for 
a  time.  This  attack  is  the  greater  disappointment  to  me  that 
I  have  been  in  such  magnificent  health  this  autumn.  It  cuts 
me  out  by  a  blow  from  all  my  plans  and  works,  and  leaves 
me,  as  it  were,  a  wreck,  a  waif, — one  of  the  vestiges  of  crea- 
tion. But  God  is  faithful,  and  I  know  there  is  goodness 
somewhere  in  his  dealing, — preparing,  probablj'-,  some  lesson 
of  grace  for  me  of  which  I  stand  in  special  need.  The  great- 
est struggle  I  have  suffered  has  been  over  my  lectures  on  Su- 
pernaturalism,  not  yet  prepared  for  the  press,  and  requiring, 
in  fact,  to  be  almost  wholly  rewritten.  I  made  up  my  mind 
very  soon  that,  if  I  must  go,  I  would  sit  directly  down  to  this 
work,  and  put  it  in  some  passable  shape,  if  it  cost  me  a  whole 
year  of  shortening  in  the  lease  of  my  life.  God  bless  you, 
my  dear  brother,  and  make  you  faithful.  We  shall  always 
rejoice  to  see  you. 

Yours  ever,  II.  Busiixell. 


346  LIFE   OF   HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

The  present  of  a  rich  afglian,  the  handiwork  of  a  vener- 
ated friend,  was  thus  acknowledged : — 

My  dear  Mrs.  E , — I  shrink  from  trying  to  tell  you 

how  much,  and  how,  I  am  affected  by  your  most  beautiful 
present.  There  is  so  much  of  your  assiduity,  care,  patience, 
study,  and  art  in  it,  with,  I  doubt  not,  as  much  of  love,  that 
it  looks  "  all  beautiful  within,"  as  well  as  in  its  stripes  and 
colors  ;  and  I  shall  put  it  on  or  over,  as  a  web  of  dear  recollec- 
tions, to  w\arm  my  heart  in  it,  and  if  that  be  warm  enough, 
the  body,  they  say,  never  chills. 

May  all  God's  richest,  dearest  blessings  crowed  upon  you, 
my  dear  friend,  to  give  you  j^eace  and  brighten  the  sunshine 
in  which  you  have  always  known  how  to  live. 

With  tenderest  affection,  I  am  yours,  H.  B. 


LETTER  FliOM  NEW  YORK.  347 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

1855. 

LETTERS  FROM  NEW  YORK,  CUBA,  SAVANNAH,  CHARLESTON, 
AND  HARTFORD. 

Greatly  depressed  bj  the  serious  break  in  his  health,  and 
not  knowing  which  way  to  look  or  how  to  plan  for  the  fut- 
ure, he  went,  for  a  little  rest  and  change,  to  Kew  York,  where 
he  stayed  at  the  house  of  his  brother-in-law,  Mr.  Joseph  Samp- 
son.    Thence  he  wrote  to  Mrs.  Bushnell : — 

New  York,  January  16, 1855. 
I  was  greatly  refreshed  by  your  letter,  and  the  more  that 
I  feared  I  might  hear  from  you  in  a  different  strain.  How 
true  it  is  that,  wdien  God  is  truly  with  any  one,  nothing  in 
the  life  of  nature,  or  the  struggles  even  of  grace,  can  greatly 
discompose !  Your  text,  "  Hath  ceased  from  his  own  labors," 
etc.,  I  suppose  was  meant  to  show  me  that  ceasing  from  mine, 
in  a  little  more  special  sense  than  ordinary,  would  not  be 
amiss  ;  that  is,  from  my  manuscripts,  plans,  undertakings,  etc. 
It  is  right ;  I  try  to  do  it, — I  say  it  is  done.  And  yet  my  heart 
returns,  how  easily,  to  its  objects,  and  here  is  the  subtle  spell 
that  binds  me  revealed.  I  sometimes  try  to  think  that  God 
will  have  it  so ;  and  then,  lest  this  may  be  my  deceit,  I  kneel 
down  and  make  a  new  surrender,  and  seem  for  the  time  to 
find  rest.  Prevailingly,  God  has  been  very  near  me  since  I 
have  been  here,  and  it  is  one  of  my  comforts  that  he  is  al- 
ways the  nearer,  the  better  health  and  spirits  I  am  in.  Since 
I  began  this  letter  Mr.  Sampson  came  into  my  chamber  with 
the  question,  "Which  way  do  you  look,  whither  go,  if  you  try 
another  climate?"  and  finally  coming  round  very  delicately 


34S  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSIINELL. 

to  the  proposition  that  I  should  go  to  California  at  his  ex- 
pense. And,  to  make  the  matter  as  easy  as  possible,  he  says, 
"  One  talent  is  given  to  me,  another  to  you ;  and  you  are  not 
to  feel  any  obligation  to  me  in  the  premises,  but  only  to  let 
me  do  a  benefit  to  the  public  which  I  owe  in  this  matter,  as 
in  others,  and  which,  instead  of  being  a  burden,  will  be  a  real 
privilege  to  me."  I  cannot  but  feel  the  very  great  kindness 
of  his  offer.  I  feel  as  much,  too,  the  goodness  of  God  in  the 
friends  he  brings  to  me  in  my  adversity.  What  now  shall 
I  do? 

After  some  deliberation  he  decided  to  try  first  a  shorter 
trip,  and  went  to  Cuba. 

At  Sea,  Bahama  Banks,  January  30, 1855, 
My  deak  Wife, — To-morrow  morning  I  shall  land  at  Ha- 
vana, and  I  write  you  directly  on  by  the  ship,  because  you 
will  get  my  letter  in  this  way  quicker  than  in  any  other.  I 
write  in  a  shaky  boat  and  upon  the  tray  of  my  trunk.  I  hope 
you  will  be  able  to  spell  me  out.  We  have  had  a  very  rough 
passage,  and  for  the  first  two  days  it  was  fearfully  cold.  On 
Friday  almost  every  soul  on  board  was  sick,  even  old  seamen. 
But  I  stood  it  out,  as  usual,  went  to  every  table,  shaved  every 
morning,  and  kept  on  my  way.  We  had  a  snow-storm  in 
crossing  the  Gulf  Stream !  But  Saturday  the  "  south  wind 
blew"  soft  and  balmy,— a  breath  of  foretaste  directly  from 
Cuba.  The  sea  fell,  and  by  evening  we  were  sitting  on  the 
deck.  Sunday  was  spent  there  in  breathing, — a  kind  of  wor- 
ship that  ought  to  have  been  devout,  and  probably  was, — in 
such  a  degree  as  a  good  deal  of  lassitude  and  depression  would 
permit. 

I  feel  more  and  more  that  I  must  give  up  my  will  and  my 
plans,  and  I  think  I  more  and  more  rejoice  to  do  it.  It  is 
a  part  of  my  prayer  that  God  will  treat  me  so  as  to  bring  me 
closest  to  himself,  and  most  establish  me  in  the  health  of  the 
soul,  so  that  I  may  say,  "  Who  is  the  health  of  my  counte- 
nance and  my  God." 

I  think  of  you  and  the  dear  children  how  often,  and  with 


LETTERS   FROM   CUBA.  349 

a  longing  liow  deep !  May  our  God  unite  us  all  in  the  dear- 
est bonds  of  holiness  and  duty,  and,  by  all  his  discipline  of 
trial  and  the  separations  he  calls  us  to  suffer,  purify  us  to  a 
more  complete  love  and  fellowship  with  himself. 

Cardenas,  February  4, 1855. 

This  is  Sunday  evening,  at  least  by  the  almanac  ;  and  it  is  a 
little  more  to  me  than  that,  I  trust,  though  not  more  at  all  for 
any  of  the  signs  around  me.  I  arrived  here  yesterday  from 
Havana,  and  a  most  beautiful  day  it  was, — a  new  day,  also,  as 
regards  the  world  of  nature.  Think  what  a  day  it  must  be  that 
shows  you  a  new  world  of  vegetation  !  Passing  througli  lux- 
uriant growths  of  tree  and  plant,  I  saw  nothing,  all  the  way, 
that  I  could  recognize  among  all  the  growths,  save  turnips 
and  Indian-corn.  Palms,  cocoa-nuts,  sugar-cane,  mangos,  cof- 
fee, cactuses,  trees  of  all  colors  from  wliite  to  copper -color 
(which  latter  stood  glistening  in  the  sun  like  brown  adders 
standing  on  their  tails,  and,  like  them,  deadly  poisoners),  log- 
wood, mahogany,  bamboo-canes,  and  I  know  not  what  beside, 
—  you  can  hardly  imagine  anything  more  strange.  The 
palm  itself  suffices  to  make  a  new  landscape ;  for  it  shoots  up 
indigenous,  liere  and  there,  in  tall  pillars  of  wood  some  forty 
to  eighty  feet  high,  and  throws  out  on  the  top  its  magnificent 
tuft  of  feathers, — the  body  almost  white,  the  top  a  dark,  lux- 
uriant green  of  four  to  eight  feathers  ten  or  twelve  feet  long 
— making  sometimes  a  forest,  sometimes  a  social  neighbor- 
hood of  trees,  and  sometimes  standing  solitary.  When  set  in 
double  rows  for  an  avenue  up  to  a  planter's  house,  as  it  often 
is,  it  makes  a  vista  which  is  truly  magnificent. 

This  has  been  a  very  strange  day  to  me.     I  am  housed  in 

Madam  D 's  house,  the  National  Hotel  of  Cardenas,  the 

best  of  the  place.  The  said  madam  is  an  immense,  muscular, 
fiery  virago  of* the  Scotch  order:  she  presides  in  the  manner 
of  a  tempest.  My  room,  which  is  abundantly  dirty,  has  no 
carpet,  and,  like  all  the  other  rooms  of  this  island,  has  no  win- 
dow-glass ;  nothing  but  an  immense  two-barred  shutter.  Like 
all  the  other  sleeping-rooms  of  the  house,  it  opens  on  the  side 
of  a  court,  on  the  back  of  which  is  the  kitchen.    In  this  court 


350  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSH  NELL. 

the  said  madam  and  her  parrot  have  made  quite  a  day  of  it. 
The  parrot  scolds,  calls,  laughs,  cries,  mocks,  etc.,  and  the  mad- 
am carries  her  part  with  even  greater  eflSciencj.  I  have  sat 
by  my  window  and  seen  her  flog  three  of  her  servants  with  a 
horsewhip,  and  heard  their  hideous  screams,  till  I  could  scarce 
endure  the  torment  longer.  Between  the  noise  without  and 
the  dirt  within  (for  I  do  not  believe  that  the  floor  of  my  room 
has  been  swept  for  a  week  or  washed  for  a  year),  I  concluded, 
finally,  with  Cowper,  "  sighing  for  a  lodge  in  some  vast  wilder- 
ness," to  see  if  I  could  not  find  a  more  congenial  place  in  the 
fields  or  woods.  And  I  brought  a  circuit  round  the  swamp 
in  which  the  town  stands,  and  sat  down  on  a  limestone  rock 
under  the  bushes,  basking  in  the  sun.  How  different  a  place 
from  that  which  God  has  heretofore  given  me  in  the  quiet 
pulpit,  among  the  devout  people  of  God,  on  a  well-kept  New 
England  Sabbath !  But  God  was  here,  and  I  had  a  sermon 
all  to  myself,  and  a  prayer.  I  thought  of  my  blessed  home, 
my  dear  people,  my  work  that  was,  and,  I  hope,  is  to  be,  with 
a  better  preparation  ;  and  sought  especially  of  God,  as  the 
worthiest  and  truest  engagement  with  you  in  your  worship, 
that  I  might  be  so  purified  by  the  fires  I  am  passing  through 
as  to  finish  my  work  in  a  worthier  and  more  believing  man- 
ner. I  hope  the  day  has  been  a  good  one  to  me,  and  one 
whose  good  will  remain.     So  may  it  be. 

February  6. 
I  have  just  returned  this  morning  from  an  excursion  of  a 
few  miles  out  to  the  estate  of  Mr,  Forbes.  Mr.  F.  is  a  friend 
of  Mr.  Harris,  and  is  apparently  most  hearty  in  asking  me  to 
come  out  and  make  a  stay  with  him.  He  is  a  bachelor,  who 
keeps  house  by  himself,  having  his  steward  to  superintend. 

On  the  estate  next  adjoining  resides  Dr.  W ,  of  Fishkill. 

He  is  said  to  be  an  excellent  physician,  is  a  very  gentleman- 
ly man,  and  has  an  accomplished  family.  He  invites  me  to 
visit  him,  which  I  shall  do  without  fail.  I  hope  you  will  feel 
with  me  that  God  is  showing  me  abundant  kindness.  Tell 
Mrs.  Harris  that  her  sons  are  indefatigable  in  their  kind- 
ness. 


LETTERS  FROxM   CUBA.  351 


Contreras,  Feln-uary  18,  1855 
Sunday  evening, 


55.  ) 


You  see  by  the  superscription  that  I  am  at  another  land- 
ing-place, the  same  that  I  spoke  to  you  of  in  my  last  letter. 
And  here  I  am  so  well  off,  and  put  so  completely  at  my  ease, 
that  I  am  tempted  to  change  my  plan  and  stay  here  even  till 
April,  if  I  find  that  I  gain  by  it,  as  I  begin  to  feel  assured 
that  I  do.  I  have  every  advantage  Iiere  that  I  could  ask:  a 
fine  sleeping-room  and  bed,  neatness  and  decenc}^,  an  atmos- 
phere of  balm,  a  fine  horseback  ride  every  morning,  fresh 
milk,  and  the  vegetable  springs  of  cocoa-nut  water,  which 
taste  like  the  springs  of  life — all  manner  of  fruits,  the  sugar- 
cane to  suck,  the  hot  sirup  to  drink,  the  steam  to  breathe, 
and  friends  who  appear  to  have  taken  a  liking  to  me,  and 
want  to  do  for  me  more  than  I  am  willing  to  have  them. 
They  even  urge  my  stay,  and  claim  a  right  to  have  me  till 
they  can  send  me  home  in  full  health.  On  the  whole,  ray 
tide  has  so  turned  that  I  begin  to  think  it  will  be  no  wisdom 
to  setoff  for  Savannah.  Nothing  makes  me  doubt  but  the 
wretched  state  of  the  country,  all  in  agitation— taking  posses- 
sion of  steamboats,  sending  troops  hither  and  thither,  mul- 
tiplying police,  enlisting  volunteers,  and  watching  night  and 
day  for  the  expected  landing  of  the  filibusters.  I  think  it  is 
all  a  hoax.  The  agitation  began  the  very  day  after  I  landed, 
but  the  Xew  York  papers  down  to  the  9th  make  no  mention 
of  any  supposed  embarkation. 

You  can  hardly  imagine  anything  more  desolate  than  a 
Sunday  here  in  this  island.  Little  dependent  as  I  am  on  ex- 
ternal conditions,  I  cannot  but  feel  the  chill  of  such  heathen- 
ism. Slavery  and  slaves;  work, work  all  day  and  night;  no 
church,  no  religion  visible  by  any  sign  but  the  tithing.  How 
different  from  the  hallowed  peace  and  the  almost  heavenly 
riches  of  our  Christian  Sabbath !  I  go  into  my  room,  and  get 
weary  with  the  confinement.  I  seek  the  fields  and  the  bam- 
boo groves,  and  there  is  no  temple.  I  return  ;  I  think  of  my 
dear  home,  my  deserted  pulpit,  my  dear  flock  and  work, — my 
heart  is  there,  and  not  here.  Oh,  if  my  body  could  also  for 
the  time  be  there  !    But  no ;  it  is  for  the  body  that  I  am  here, 


352  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL, 

and  I  must  take  this  medicine  for  the  body's  sake.  I  do  it 
cheerfully,  and  with  growing  hope  or  confidence  of  the  result. 
But  my  disease  is  very  stubbornly  fastened,  and  will  not  yield 
without  time.  So,  then,  I  consent  to  the  time.  Let  it  be  as 
God  wills,  and  let  it  be  my  part  to  wait  until  his  time  shall 
come.  A  father's  love  with  many  prayers  on  the  heads  of  the 
dear  children.  God  bless  you  and  be  with  you,  in  the  fulness 
of  the  promise. 

Contreras,  February  23, 1855. 

•  •  •  The  dear  faces  of  the  "  Graces  Three,"  how  often  do  I 
call  them  up  and  group  them,  now  about  the  winter-fire,  now 
at  the  table,  now  listening  to  the  breath  of  music !  Do  you 
know,  dears,  that  I  am  with  you,  hanging  round  the  chairs 
and  putting  on  the  wood  ?  .  .  . 

Thus  goes  on  my  regular  mill  of  routine,  at  whose  crank  I 
M^ait,  turning  to  make  it  go,  else  it  would  stand  entirely  still. 
I  have  omitted  nothing  save  an  occasional  expedition  into 
the  woods  or  the  bamboo-field  to  cut  a  cane.  I  had  six  or 
seven  on  hand,  standing  up  in  the  corner  of  mj^  room  j-ester- 
day, — omen,  I  suppose,  of  the  number  of  props  it  will  take 
to  hold  me  up  for  the  rest  of  my  journey. 

Contreras,  Sunday,  March  4, 1855, 
It  is  very  singular,  quite  unaccountable,  that  I  do  not  get 
any  letter  yet  from  you.  I  never  wanted  so  much  to  get  hold 
of  your  thoughts,  and  see  whither  you  are  going,  as  now. 
I  see  no  way  to  walk  in,  myself,  but  that  of  faith ;  and  if  I 
could  feel  the  touch  of  your  faith,  it  would  be  the  greatest 
comfort.  I  know  not  what  to  say  of  my  health.  I  am  some- 
times greatly  discouraged,  struggle  darkly  with  my  symptoms, 
half  let  go  of  my  confidence,  return  with  difiiculty  to  my  ex- 
pectations, and  finally  end  with  yielding  myself  to  the  fa- 
therly sovereignty,  falling  into  it  and  burying  in  it  all  my 
thoughts,  misgivings,  cares,  and  throes.  Oh,  if  I  could  not  go 
to  God  and  feel  that  there  is  a  good  will  at  the  helm,  who  will 
do  with  me  and  mine  what  is  best  for  us,  I  should  sometimes 
quite  break ;  but  here  my  breaking  is  rest,  peace,  and  some- 
times a  new  springing  confidence  that  comes  out  like  a  gale 


LETTERS  FROM  CUBA.  353 

of  health  from  Ilim.  The  weather  here  has  been  very  try- 
ing of  late.  They  say  that  the  winter,  as  with  yon,  has  been 
one  of  the  coldest ;  two  days  ago  it  was  to  the  senses  like  a 
coldest  November  chill,  though  the  thermometer  did  not  fall 
below  about  54°.  I  observe  that  almost  all  the  nem-oes  are 
coughing,  with  a  deep  hollow  note,  as  if  they  were  in  the  ad- 
vanced stages  of  consumption.  In  such  a  case,  it  is  not  won- 
derful, I  suppose,  that  I  seem  to  make  no  advance.  I  begin 
to  think  now  that  nothing  will  cure  me  but  faith,  a  bath  in 
the  supernatural  and  healing  grace  of  Christ,  an  inhalation  of 
the  Divine  Spirit  and  his  new-creating  power.  I  see  by  the 
papers  that  you  have  had  a  dreadfully  cold  winter.  But  you 
have  cold  with  a  fire ;  we,  less  cold  with  none.  To-day  I  have 
been  sleeping,  or  taking  my  nap,  on  the  bed  with  an  open 
window, — a  beautiful  summer's  day.  So  we  have  it  a  good 
part  of  the  time,  which  makes  it  seem  a  whole  half  year  since 
I  left  you;  but  the  "north  comes  down"  next  day  "with 
his  airy  forces,"  and  the  snow-skirt  of  your  winter  seems  to 
be  spread  over  us.  I  used  to  think  that  Job  had  seen  some 
terrible  cold  weather  when  he  wrote,  "  Who  can  stand  before 
his  cold  ?"  but  I  think  now  that  he  had  tasted  cold  in  a  more 
nearly  tropical  climate, — that  the  subtle,  back-handed,  creep- 
ing cold,  that  knew  how  to  steal  through  seeming  warmth 
and  touch  him  with  a  chill,  what  way  he  could  not  see, — that 
this  set  him  shivering,  and  then  he  sung  through  chattering 
teeth, "  Who  can  stand,"  etc. 

I  can't  tell  you,  dear  all — L.,  M,,  D.,  yes,  and  Jane*  too — 
how  much  I  want  to  see  you.  If  I  could  see  Jane's  face 
through  a  crack  of  the  door,  it  would  shine  like  a  good  an- 
gel's. As  to  the  angels,  we  have  not  any  here,  at  any  rate  no 
home  angels,  for  that  is  the  kind  I  most  want  to  see. 

Ever  your  husband,  II.  B. 

Contreras,  Sunday,  March  11,  1855. 
My  very  dear  Daughter, — I  shall  not  get  your  letter  till  I 
reach  Havana  on  my  way  home,  which  will  either  be  on  the 

*  A  faithful  servant. 


354  LIFE   OF   IIOKACE   BUSIINELL. 

22d  iiist.  or  the  lOtli  proximo,  —  a  question  yet  to  be  de- 
cided. Welcome  be  the  day,  whether  it  is  going  home  to 
hve  or  to  die. 

I  ought  not  to  conceal  it  from  my  friends,  least  of  all  from 
my  family,  that  I  encounter  some  discouragements  and  some- 
times am  pressed  with  sore  struggles.  When  my  prospect  of 
living  is  darkened  in  this  manner,  I  need  not  tell  you  how 
fondly,  or  with  what  tender  clinging,  I  remember  my  dear 
family,  and  how  these  form  images  that  are  painted  in  the 
inmost  chamber  of  my  heart,  and  rise  to  the  brain,  claiming 
to  possess  even  that  as  their  exclusive  right.  True,  I  have 
other  friends  in  the  world  whom  I  most  fondly  love;  but 
these  four,  God  bless  them,  do  none  the  less  appear  to  cir- 
cumscribe my  love  and  claim  it  all.  When  I  think  of  leaving 
the  world,  these  meet  me  as  my  charge,  my  care,  and  I  long 
to  know  what  is  to  befall  then].  It  is  a  great  comfort,  in  all 
such  struggles,  that  I  can  hope  for  them  as  being  heirs  with 
me  of  Christ  and  his  salvation.  .  .  . 

God  bless  you,  my  dear  daughter,  and  keep  you  in  that 
way  of  holy  duty  and  discipline  where  your  graces  will 
brightest  shine,  the  river  of  your  peace  most  calmly  flow. 

Written  not  without  some  tears  of  fatherly  tenderness. 

Horace  Bushxell. 

To  the  North  Church  of  Hartford. 

Cuba,  April  3, 1855. 
My  dear  Brethren, — I  have  had  it  in  my  heart  to  write 
you  for  these  many  weeks,  but  have  been  delayed  by  the 
hope  that  I  might  soon  be  able  to  write  you  in  terms  of  en- 
couragement as  regards  my  speedy  return  and  the  resump- 
tion of  my  duties;  for  I  well  understood  that  the  mere  omis- 
sion to  speak  in  that  kind  of  coniidence  would  be  taken  as  a 
sign  that  I  am  losing  ground,  and  that  my  return  to  my  work 
is  growing  doubtful.  I  can  wait  no  longer,  and,  indeed,  I 
ought  not.  But  I  will  tell  you  frankly  that  I  am  sorely  baf- 
fled as  regards  my  recovery.  In  some  respects  I  have  greatly 
improved.  Indeed,  I  have  been  able  to  rise  above  my  ordina- 
ry pitch  in  the  external  indications  of  a  robust  and  healthy 


LETTER   TO   HIS   CHURCH.  355 

state.  Bat  as  regards  the  particular  local  affection  by  which 
I  was  disabled,  I  cannot  say  that  at  any  time  I  have  made  the 
least  advance  in  a  way  of  convalescence.  On  the  contrary, 
for  the  last  fortnight  I  have  certainly  lost  ground.  I  have 
no  physician  at  hand  w^hose  judgment  I  may  take,  and  I  am 
very  likely,  as  you  will  readily  understand,  to  misjudge  my 
own  symptoms ;  but  I  am  bound  to  tell  you  that  I  see  no  pros- 
pect of  being  able,  as  I  hoped,  to  resume  my  work  by  the  first 
of  May ;  and  when  I  say  this,  I  cannot  be  blind  to  the  fact 
that  my  prospect  of  ever  doing  it  is  diminished.  My  diffi- 
culty is  one,  as  you  well  know,  that  may  easily  take  a  serious 
turn,  and  walks  in  darkness  in  a  way  that  cannot  be  traced 
till  its  end  is  accomplished.  I  can,  therefore,  only  cast  myself 
on  the  care  of  our  common  Father,  and  let  him  turn  it  as  he 
will.  How  great  a  struggle  it  costs  me  to  write  in  this  doubt- 
ful way,  concerning  the  work  of  my  life  and  the  charge  that 
for  so  long  a  time  has  been  the  burden  of  my  affections  and 
my  prayers,  I  cannot  tell  you.  This  work  I  long  to  resume, 
for  I  should  hope  to  perform  it  more  faithfully  than  I  have 
done  hitherto.  I  have  also  things  on  hand  to  do,  in  regard 
to  the  interests  of  Christian  truth,  which  it  is  a  great  trial  to 
leave  undone.  But  I  must  bow  myself  to  God,  who  loves  my 
W'Ork  better  than  I  do,  and  sees,  it  may  be,  a  want  of  capacity 
in  me  for  it,  which  perhaps  I  do  not.  Let  him  determine  for 
us,  and  it  shall  be  M'ell.  Meantime,  let  me  ask  your  prayers 
that  God  will  prepare  both  you  and  me  for  the  results  which 
his  Providence  will  bring,  and  which  hitherto  are  concealed 
from  our  view ;  not  forgetting,  also,  that  power  of  interces- 
sion for  the  things  we  want,  which  finds  so  large  a  space  in 
the  terms  of  Providence. 

It  grieves  me  to  hear  that  some  of  you  have  drunk  so  deep- 
ly the  cup  of  affliction.  May  you  drink  as  deeply  of  the  con- 
solations and  comforts  of  God !  I  hear  also,  with  great  joy, 
of  your  exertions  in  my  absence  to  maintain  the  attendance 
and  the  interest  of  your  evening  exercises.  I  have  great  con- 
fidence in  you,  dear  brethren,  that  you  do  and  will  do  any- 
thing that  is  needful,  in  a  way  of  sacrifice,  to  maintain  the 
spirit  of  prayer  and  of  unity  in  holy  things.     I  believe  that 


356  LIFE  OF   IIOEACE  BUSHNELL. 

you  love  one  another-,  and  are  bound  together  in  the  same 
cause.  In  this  confidence  I  greatly  rejoice.  May  it  never 
fail,  and  to  that  end  may  the  grace  of  God  be  ever  with  you, 
and  the  Spirit  of  Christ  rest  upon  you ! 

Your  pastor,  H.  Bushnell. 

Savannah,  April  13,  1855, 
Mt  deak  Child — (that  is,  if  Young  America  will  put  up 
with  such  kind  of  address),— I  reached  here  last  evening  in 
safety,  and  found  a  good  feast  of  letters  waiting  for  me,  one 
of  which  was  my  first  from  you.     I  thank  you  for  it,  and 
should  have  been  glad  enough  to  answer  it  long  ago,  for  I 
knew  it  was  here  waiting  for  me.     I  have  seen  a  good  many 
curious  things  in  Cuba— such  as  churches  without  religion, 
laws  without  protection,  courts  without  justice,  and  children 
without  clothes ;  but  the  most  curious  thing  of  all,  which  has 
been  my  study  every  morning  in  my  rides,  I  will  describe  to 
you.     It  is  the  yaguey-tree.     It  is  unlike  all  other  trees,  in 
the  fact  that  it  begins  to  grow  at  the  top.     And  how  do  you 
think  that  is  ?     I  will  tell  you.     First,  the  seed  of  the  tree  is 
dropped  by  the  birds,  or  lodged  by  the  winds,  in  the  moist 
branching  place  of  other  trees,  sometimes  ten,  sometimes  fifty 
feet  from  the  ground.     There  it  quickens,  takes  root,  and  be- 
o-ins  to  grow,  sending  out  its  branches  like  another  tree,  and 
spinning  a  kind  of  vinous  root  along  down  the  body  of  the 
tree  occupied.     At  length  these  vines  or  rootlings  strike  the 
ground  and  take  root  in  it,  and  then  a  growth  immediately 
commences  upward  in  a  reverse  order.     Now  it  will  be  seen 
that  the  growths  upward  and  downward,  crossing  and  weav- 
ing one  with  another,  knit  together  at  every  cross,  and  show 
you  one  tree  growing  as  a  net,  with  another  tree  inside.     The 
outside  tree,  as  the  parts  of  it  swell,  hugs  the  inside  like  a 
huge  girdle  of  anacondas,  causes  it  to  protrude  at  the  vacant 
spaces  as  if  going  to  burst,  and  finally  kills  it,  becoming  itself 
tlie  tree.     Sometimes  the  body  shows  how  it  was  made  by  a 
hollow  inside,  and  vacant  spaces  or  patches  where  the  light 
shines  through;  and  sometimes  it  looks  quite  smooth  and 
solid,  except  that  near  the  ground,  even  when  the  tree  is  six 


HOME  LETTEES.  357 

or  eight  feet  in  diameter,  it  straddles  out  into  a  hundred  legs, 
all  separate,  looking  like  a  tree  that  is  set  top  downward  by 
mistake.  I  have  seen  one  through  which  I  might  drive  a 
coach. 

Now  for  the  moral ;  for  there  is  a  moral,  you  know,  in  trees. 
There  is  a  class  of  men  that  you  may  call  the  yaguey-men, 
who  get  their  roots  and  take  on  all  their  signs  of  growth  by 
fastening  on  the  top  of  other  men.  Never  able  to  have  stood 
up  alone,  they  take  on  the  airs  of  strength  and  seem  to  be 
great.  But,  though  they  try  to  hide  the  merit  of  the  victim 
by  whose  opinions  and  character  they  are  supported,  still 
you  can  always  see,  by  their  patchwork  look  and  the  vacant 
spaces  where  the  light  shines  through,  that  they  are  not  solid. 
And  as  the  yaguey  is  a  tree  absolutely  good  for  nothing  as  re- 
gards the  practical  uses  of  timber  and  fire,  so  these  parasites 
and  thieves  of  merit  are  sure  in  the  end  to  find  as  little  honor 
as  they  deserve.  So  much  for  the  yaguey,  which  has  been 
about  the  only  study  of  my  Cuban  life.  .  .  .  God  bless  you, 
my  dear  one.     How  I  long  to  see  your  face  ! 

Your  Father. 

Savannah,  April  14,  1855. 
My  dearest  "Wife, — This  is  the  fourteenth  day  of  April, 
the  anniversary  of  that  day  when  a  godly  mother,  now  among 
the  glorified,  with  a  mother's  pangs  brought  her  first-born 
into  the  world,  even  me,  her  nnworthy  son,  who  have  now 
finished  fifty-three  years  of  the  short  lease  of  my  life.  Shall 
I  ever  see  another  birthday,  or  is  this  the  last?  I  have  been 
asking  the  question,  as  a  question  that  to  me  has  real  mean- 
ing, and  not  a  question  that  respects  the  possible  only,  as 
heretofore.  I  will  not  say  that  I  do  not  expect  to  live.  I 
even  hope  to  live  many  years,  though  I  am  not  very  confident 
that  I  shall  ever  be  a  well  man  again.  Be  that  as  it  may,  I 
do  earnestly  long  and  timidly  hope  that  I  may  somehow  be 
able  to  add  a  closing  part  to  my  life  which  will  be  better 
than  the  part  already  fulfilled,  and  more  significant  as  a  con- 
tribution to  the  truth  of  Christ  and  the  power  of  his  Gospel ; 
which  if  I  do,  what  can  it  be  but  that  my  thinking,  discern- 


358  LIFE   OF   HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

ing,  understanding  life  is  concluded  and  consummated  by  a 
discovery  of  the  way  and  power  of  faith ! 

I  was  greatly  interested  by  what  you  say  of  this  subject  in 
your  letters,  and  have  occupied  myself  this  morning  in  noting 
down  a  few  of  the  reasons  that  go  to  raise  or  justify  a  new 
confidence  in  this  matter  of  faith,  or  rather  to  restore  an  old 
coniidence  such  as  prophets  and  apostles  have  held :  though, 
coming  up  again  after  an  age  of  reason,  and  a  submerging  of 
Christian  piety  under  the  terms  of  reason,  it  will,  in  fact,  be 
new,  having  a  new  character  and  filling  a  new  office  in  the 
world,  as  respects  the  standing  of  revelation  and  the  final  tri- 
umph of  the  Christian  truth.  I  will  give  you  the  notes  I 
have  made,  only  requesting  that  you  will  keep  them  to  your- 
self, for  I  am  not  yet  ripe  : — 

1.  We  should  most  naturally  expect  that  God  would  not 
hide  himself  from  his  creatures.  He  loves  them,  invites  their 
love  to  him,  asks  them  to  be  in  terms  of  friendship  with  him. 
And  what  is  this  but  to  say  that  he  will  hear,  communicate, 
be  open  to  and  receive  their  desires,  doing  for  and  with  them 
as  friends  do,  because  they  are  friends.  The  infidels  have 
said,  "  If  there  be  a  God,  why  does  he  not  show  himself?  Is 
there  anytliing  so  important  for  man  to  know  as  God  ?  Why, 
then,  is  this  kept  so  ambiguous  and  dark,  wlien  other  tilings 
are  clear?"  And  are  they  not  right, — that  is,  right  so  far  as 
they  assume  the  certainty  that  a  living  God  will  show  him- 
self the  living  God  ?  .  .  . 

5.  There  is  nothing  in  the  world  of  laws  to  discourage  such 
a  confidence.  Laws  are  the  alphabet  of  our  knowledge  on  the 
footing  of  nature.  So  far,  God  will  show  us  his  way  and  con- 
duct us  into  his  will.  Then,  when  we  come  up  into  the  high- 
er platform  of  faith,  what  is  indicated  but  that  he  will  open 
to  us  higher  tiers  of  knowledge,  as  he  is  now  able,  and  make 
us  powers  in  a  higher  range  of  efficacy  ?  Laws  are  not,  there- 
fore, broken  up  by  the  specialties  of  faith,  but  are  onl}^  tran- 
scended. Or  rather  we  may  say  that  we  are  now  exploring 
and  searching  out  the  higher  laws  of  God,  even  those  of  his 
personal  society  and  goodness. 

6.  The  want  of  religion  now  is,  plainly,  the  restoration  of 


LETTERS.  359 

faith,  or  the  open  state  between  the  Church  and  God.  We 
need  to  see  the  possibility  of  revehition  or  its  credibility  in 
the  present  living  fact.  We  are  trying,  and  liave  been  for 
centuries,  to  hold  Christianity  np  in  the  lap  of  logic,  reason, 
science,  and  the  natural  understanding,  and  the  poor  thing 
dwindles,  —  inconsequent,  impotent,  a  shadow  that  has  lost 
out  the  substance.  The  question  now  is  whether  it  can  live. 
Can  arguments,  replies,  ingenuities,  make  it  live  ?  I  see  not 
how. 

7.  There  is  nothing  new  in  the  dangers  of  such  a  doctrine. 
True,  there  can  be  visionaries,  enthusiasts,  fanatics,  and  all 
manner  of  delusion.  So  there  could  be,  and  were,  in  the 
former  times.  There  were  false  prophets,  lying  miracles, 
dreamers  of  dreams.  There  is  only  more  security  or  safe- 
guard in  the  rational  and  sceptical  habit  of  our  times  than 
there  ever  was  before.  And,  besides,  there  never  could  be  a 
time  when  a  want  of  modesty,  a  shallow  presumption  or  con- 
ceit, would  not  bring  its  penalties ;  and  it  is  really  no  merit 
of  any  scheme  of  truth  that  it  keeps  off  the  danger  of  follj^, 
and  saves  the  course  of  passion  from  extravagance.  It  may 
even  be  the  fault  of  that  rational,  negative  doctrine  which 
assumes  to  keep  all  safe,  that  it  undertakes  to  make  a  blind 
state  as  good  and  wholesome,  in  the  show,  as  any. 

These  things  I  have  noted  on  the  side  positive,  and  I  feel 
that  they  make  a  very  strong  case.  No  one,  it  seems  to  me, 
can  run  the  mind  through  such  a  review  without  feeling  that 
the  thing  most  natural  to  be  lield  is  the  possibility  of  a  foot- 
ing of  faith  in  our  times,  much  like  that  of  tlie  apostles.  So, 
we  should  say,  it  ought  to  be.  Christianity  appears  to  be  ad- 
journed, when  we  say  tliat  so  it  cannot  be.  Perhaps  tliere  are 
qualifications  to  be  added ;  and  yet  I  cannot  but  feel  that  the 
true  light  of  the  future  is  here,  and  that  the  Church  of  the 
future  is  to  be  born  in  the  birth  of  this  faith.  Oli  that  God 
would  teach  us,  and  prepare  us,  and  use  us,  in  what  way  it 
may  best  please  him,  for  the  inauguration  of  such  a  day  of 
faith !  I  think  I  am  willing  to  be  used  in  this  manner,  and 
long  to  be  furnished  for  a  part  so  honorable  and  so  dear  to 
God.    Breathe  upon  us,  O  Spirit  of  life,  on  this  day  so  full  of 

24 


SCO  LIFE   OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

sacred  influence,  and  tempered  by  so  tender  and  serious  fore- 
cast, and  turn  us  into  that  true  way  of  faitli  in  which  our 
life,  so  doubtfully  useful,  may  be  so  certainly  raised  to  a 
crown.  .  .  . 

Pardon  this  long,  heavy  letter,  and  may  it  give  to  you  what 
it  has  taken  out  of  my  back.     Ever  yours,  and  still  forever, 

H.  BusimELL. 

To  Mr.  Thomas  WinsM]). 

Savannah,  April  18, 1855. 

My  dear  Brother  in  Christ, — I  thank  you  most  heartily 
for  the  two  letters  I  found  here  from  you.  It  is  a  great  re- 
freshment to  hear  an  old  friend  and  brother  speak  once  more 
a  word  of  fellowship.  Until  the  last  Sunday,  I  have  been,  as 
it  were,  a  heathen,  oi",  at  least,  among  heathen,  since  I  left  the 
warm  and  loving  circle  of  prayer  in  the  old  North  Church. 
I  found  a  young  convert,  from  the  State  of  Maine,  on  the 
plantation  where  I  stayed ;  and  with  this  young  cooper  I  con- 
spired (a  most  dangerous  conspiracy,  if  it  were  known)  to 
make  out  something  in  the  nature  of  a  Sunday  worship.  We 
went  out  to  the  remote  woods,  and  there  we  kneeled  down, 
each  in  turn,  to  pray.  Sometimes  I  gave  a  paraphrase  of 
some  chapter,  like  the  139th  Psalm,  and  he,  comprising  in 
himself  the  organ  and  all  the  parts  of  the  music, — for  I  had 
too  little  voice  to  help  him  much, — sung  a  song,  as  by  the 
willows  in  a  strange  land.  I  need  not  tell  you  for  whom  we 
prayed,  or  for  what.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  we  forgot  nothing 
which  we  loved,  or  that  we  could  think  of  as  dear  to  Christ. 
It  was  good ;  it  put  us  out  of  heathenism  into  the  circle  of  the 
true  worship  of  heaven  and  earth.  Our  hearts  burnt  togeth- 
er, for  we  understood  each  other ;  and  when  we  parted,  we 
parted  as  they  that  have  refreshed  and  blessed  each  other  in 
a  dark  and  godless  land. 

I  am  rejoiced  to  hear  that  the  brethren  have  been  faithful 
to  sustain  each  other,  and  keep  bright  the  hoi}''  chain  of  fel- 
lowship. Nothing  is  a  greater  comfort  than  to  hear  well  of 
you  in  my  absence.  "  For  now  we  live,  if  ye  stand  fast  in 
the  Lord."     Go  on,  and  may  the  living  fire  of  the  Spirit  for- 


LETTERS.  361 

ever  abide  witli  you,  making  you  steadfast,  and  faithful,  and 
joyful  in  the  Lord. 

I  am  also  glad  to  hear  that  T and  his  young  friend  are 

at  work :  the  more  they  do,  the  more  they  can  ;  the  stronger 
their  confidence,  the  deeper  their  peace ;  with  the  certainty 
that  their  labor  will  not  be  in  vain  in  the  Lord. 

Eemember  me  most  tenderly  to  your  family  and  to  all 
inquiring  friends. 

Very  truly  yours  in  the  bonds  of  Christ,  11.  B. 

Cbarleston,  April  21, 1855. 

My  evek  deak  Wife, — I  wrote  you  a  long  letter,  just  a 
week  ago,  on  the  state  of  faith  and  its  power  as  pertaining 
to  a  real  Christian  experience.  Let  me  now  add  some  quali- 
fications, such  as  Scripture  and  my  own  reflections  have  sug- 
gested. 

It  may  be  a  great  omission  not  to  distinguish  the  state  of 
faith,  as  a  state  spiritually  renewed,  supernaturally  enlight- 
ened, adopted,  witnessed,  from  a  state  miraculously  empow- 
ered. .  .  .  We  have  it  clearly  made  out  that  there  is,  and  is 
always  to  be,  an  inspired,  in  the  sense  of  a  spirit -led  state, 
where  the  secret  of  the  Lord  will  be  in  the  soul,  and  Christ 
manifested  as  its  light.  This,  of  course,  in  so  far  as  the  sub- 
ject will  let  the  light  come  unobstructed,  which  it  may  re- 
quire a  good  deal  of  refinement  and  a  very  chastened  state 
of  purity  to  do ;  and,  therefore,  the  inspiration  will  come  to 
maturity  slowly,  and  the  secret  of  God  be  attained  to  late, 
and  after  some  mistakes.  .  .  .  The  great  fault  of  denial  or 
falling  off  from  Christian  truth  appears,  on  the  whole,  to  be 
in  the  absolute  denial  of  inspiration,  or  the  assumed  limita- 
tion of  it,  now,  to  a  less  marked  and  lower  type  of  experi- 
ence. There  is  no  evidence  whatever  that  we  are  required 
to  be  less  inspired,  or  in  a  lower  sense,  or  that  we  are  farther 
shut  away  from  God  and  the  Word  of  the  Lord,  than  they 
were  in  former  ages.  Different  things  are  to  be  done,  and 
God  will  inspire  us  for  just  what  we  have  to  do ;  and  it  may 
be  that  our  inspiration,  being  for  a  riper  age,  will,  so  far,  be 
of  a  higher  quality.     Only,  be  it  never  forgotten  that  the 


362  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

inspired  state  is  a  chastened  state ;  tliat  hasty  utterances  may 
be  rash  and  presumptuons ;  and  that  God  will  often  do  the 
best  thing  for  our  real  progress  when  he  lets  us  venture  on 
vaticinations  in  which  we  mix  our  selfishness,  and  turn  our 
wishes  or  our  vanities  into  oracles.  It  will  be  easy,  at  all 
times,  to  reason  ourselves  into  confidences  that  are  not  from 
God — not  inspired ;  or  we  may  take  up  in  subtlety  by  our 
%Dill  what  we  think  we  are  taught  of  God. 

Ajyril  29. — Thus  far  I  had  written  at  date,  but  did  not 
complete  and  send  the  letter,  because  I  hoped  you  would  not 
be  at  home  to  read  it.  But  your  letter,  received  yesterday, 
extinguished  that  hope.  I  was  a  little  disappointed,  for  I 
had  allowed  myself  to  count  on  a  great  advantage  to  you,  as 
well  as  23leasure  to  myself,  in  having  you  with  me.  I  am 
happy  to  tell  you  that  I  have  gained  a  great  deal  since  I 
came.  For  the  first  two  or  three  days  I  was  worse  than  I 
had  been  at  any  time  since  I  left  home.  How  I  am  going  to 
take  up  my  charge  and  go  on  with  my  full  work, — how"  and 
when, — there  is  the  question.  I  seem  to  tire  easily,  and  the 
"  perdurable  toughness  "  is  gone.  ...  1  shall  be  at  home  prob- 
ably in  the  beginning  of  the  third  week  in  May.  Joyful  be 
the  day  !  .  .  . 

To  Br.  Bartol. 

Hartford,  June  7, 1855. 

My  dear  Feiend, — I  have  been  meaning,  every  day  since 
my  return  from  Cuba,  about  three  weeks  ago,  to  write  you 
and  let  you  know  of  my  state,  prospects,  etc.  I  wish  I  could 
tell  you  something  better  than  is  permitted  me.  I  have 
many  good  symptoms,  and  seem  in  some  points  to  be  im- 
proved, but  the  physicians  shake  their  heads  over  me.  They 
do  not  tell  me  that  I  am  beyond  hope  of  recovery,  but  seem 
rather  to  cherish  the  confidence  that  I  will  recover — that  is, 
by-and-by,  ultimately,  in  some  remote  period  of  the  world.  I 
need  not  tell  you  that  I  have  to  encounter  some  heavy  strug- 
gles of  feeling,  as  I  beat  off  and  on  this  lee-shore  of  life.  In 
particular,  it  costs  me  a  great  trial  to  let  go,  if  I  must,  before 
I  have  done  that  which  I  have  been  regarding  as  the  main 
work  and  principal  meaning  of  my  life.    But  I  try  to  console 


LETTERS.  3G3 

myself  in  the  conviction  of  my  own  folly,  and  that  God,  who 
knows  me  better  than  I  do  myself,  prefers  to  get  me  off  be- 
fore I  have  done  the  mischief  I  wonld. 

Our  friend  Bellows,  whom  I  saw  and  dined  with  on  my 
way  to  Cuba,  told  me  quite  frankly  that  he,  and  I  think  you 
also,  were  unable  to  look  on  my  letter  of  reconciliation  with 
Dr.  Ilawes  as  being  less  than  a  recantation.  This  quite  sur- 
prised me,  for  Hawes  himself  looks  upon  it  in  no  such  man- 
ner, and  all  the  notices  I  have  seen  from  my  orthodox  friends, 
— I  don't  say  my  orthodox  enemies, — have  said  plainly  that 
my  letter  is  no  recantation,  or  in  anywise  different  from  the 
published  sentiments  of  my  books.  I  think  you  have  fallen 
into  this  error  by  not  attending  as  closely  as  you  might  to 
certain  references,  and  taking  Hawes's  construction  of  some 
things,  where  he  goes  beyond  them.  At  any  rate,  if  I  am 
now  to  pass  to  my  account,  it  will  be  in  a  spirit  of  most 
hearty  thanks  to  God  that  I  have  been  permitted  to  say  to 
the  world  (abating  some  obscurities  and  defects,  it  may  be, 
of  manner)  just  what  I  have.  I  could  not  die  in  confidence 
if  I  did  not  stand  fast  in  my  testimony,  so  deep  is  my  convic- 
tion that  I  have  spoken  the  truth. 

Do  not  understand  from  this  that  I  am  certainly  giving 
up  the  hope  of  life.     On  the  contrary,  I  rather  expect  to  get 

well.  H.  BUSHNELL. 

To  the  Same. 

Hartford,  December  2G,  1855. 
My  dear  Friend, — I  should  have  acknowledged  your  book 
sooner  if  I  had  not  made  my  acknowledgments  as  one  of  the 
great  public  beforehand.  I  have  read  it  with  great  interest, 
both  for  your  sake  and  for  the  book's  sake.  It  was  a  little 
diverting  that  I  opened  directly  upon  the  page  or  pages  where 
you  shoot  at  me,  and  that  without  hitting,  for  if  you  had  hit 
me  it  would  have  been  as  little  diverting  as  possible.  Some- 
body has  given  you  a  wrong  account  of  my  sermon  on  "  The 
Dignity  of  Human  ]!*s^ature,  shown  by  the  E-uin  it  makes."* 

*  The  title  of  the  sermon  when  published  was  changed,  to  prevent 
misconstruction,  to  another  form,  viz.,  "  Dignity  of  Human  Nature, 
shown  from  its  Kuius." 


364  LIFE   OF    HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

The  idea  was  not  bj  the  ruin  it  causes,  but  by  that  of  which 
it  affords  the  material,  as  where  we  speak  of  the  ruin  Thebes 
makes.  I  see,  too,  that  you  alkide  to  my  Dudleian  Lecture. 
Well,  I  am  getting  ready  to  publish,  and  then  we  shall  see — 
what  we  shall  see.  AVho  knows  but  that  we  shall  some  time 
be  involved  in  a  great  controversy!  One  thing  I  am  sure  of, 
if  we  do,  that  we  shall  be  the  best-natured  fighters  that  have 
been  seen  for  a  long  time.  Meantime,  accept  my  hearty 
thanks  for  your  refreshing  and  beautiful  volume.  The  good 
parts  hit  me  I  can  testify,  if  the  had  did  not. 

If  I  should  publish  in  Boston,  I  may  come  on  to  make  ar- 
rangements by-and-by,  though  I  have  not  yet  decided  to  pub- 
lish now.  I  only  acknowledge,  for  the  present,  that  God  has 
heard  my  many  prayers  and  granted  me  the  respite  I  asked 
for,  long  enough  to  prepare  this  volume.  The  work  is  now 
very  nearly  done,  that  is,  after  a  fashion.  I  am  still  an  inva- 
lid. I  have  not  preached  at  all.  I  think  I  shall  be  off  at  the 
break  of  winter  f*or  some  drier  climate. 

With  my  best  regards  to  yours,  I  am,  as  ever,  yours  my- 
self, HOKACE.BUSHNELL. 


CALIFORNIA.  365 


CHAPTEK  XYIII. 

1856. 
CALIFORNIA. 

Between  "loafing"  and  "writing  a  little  nonsense,"  the 
year  of  1855  wore  away.  The  summer,  spent  among  the 
hills,  in  the  pure  air  of  his  native  Connecticut,  seems  to  have 
done  more  for  his  health  than  the  more  languid  air  of  the 
South  had  accomplished.  There  was  a  gradual  improve- 
ment— a  sense  of  being  on  the  up  grade ;  and  with  this  hope- 
ful consciousness,  he  was  able  to  do  some  work  upon  his  long- 
studied  lectures  on  the  "  Supernatural."  Early  in  1856  his 
mind  was  made  up  to  try  California ;  and  in  February,  short- 
ly before  his  departure,  he  wrote  to  his  friend  Mr.  Chese- 
brough,  "  I  have  been  able  this  winter,  for  which  I  am  great- 
ly thankful,  so  far  to  revise  and  arrange  my  '  Supernatural- 
ism'  that  it  cannot  be  lost.  In  this  I  have  a  great  load  thrown 
off  my  shoulders.  How  many  strong  prayers, — or  weak,  shall 
I  say  ? — have  I  sent  up  to  God,  begging  for  a  respite  in  my 
disease  long  enough  to  allow  me  to  linish  this  work  I  I  have 
been  heard,  and  my  thanks  are  a  joyons  offering  for  the  gift." 


To  Dr.  Bartol. 

Hartford,  February  29, 1856. 
My  deae  Feiend, — That  I  may  not  seem  to  have  eloped,  I 
must  let  you  know  that  I  am  off  for  California  on  the  5tli  of 
March,  Oh  how  I  wish  I  could  have  your  company !  What 
a  luxury  even  that  world  of  barbarisms  would  be !  I  have 
been  gaining  slowly  this  winter,  but  must  try  to  be  a  little 
better  established  before  I  go  to  my  work.  I  shall  stay  in 
California  eight  months  or  a  year.  Meantime,  my  "  Super- 
naturalism  "  must  sleep.     I  expect  to  return  well.     But,  alas ! 


366  LIFE   OF   HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

bow  little  do  I  know  that  I  may  ever  return  at  all !     But  I 
go  in  good  spirits  and  full  of  hope. 

May  our  good  Father  be  with  you  and  yours.  I  always 
remember  you  with  a  peculiar  interest,  and  think  of  you 
with  appetite ;  not  to  devour,  but  to  see,  and  receive,  and  dis- 
charge my  folly  at  you,  in  the  freedom  of  my  trust.  When 
I  return,  I  must  see  you,  and  will.  Until  then,  my  heart  is 
with  you.  Yours  truly,  Horace  Bushnell. 

Extracts  from  Letters  luritten  in  California. 

San  Francisco,  March  31, 1856. 

Here  then,  at  last,  I  am,  with  a  continent  between  me  and 
all  I  hold  dear  on  earth.  I  arrived  on  Friday  morning, — less 
than  twenty-three  days  from  New  York.  The  voyage  was 
tranquil  even  to  excess,  and  healthy ;  which,  considering  the 
multitudes  crowded  in  the  ship,  was  a  special  subject  of 
thanksgiving.  I  need  hardly  tell  you  that  I  am  not  as  well 
as  when  I  left  home ;  for  such  a  voyage  must,  of  course,  re- 
sult in  some  damage.     I  weigh,  however,  just  what  I  did.  .  .  . 

I  have  been  much  alone,  as  regards  men,  on  the  way,  but  I 
have  not  been  solitary.  The  day  and  the  night  have  been 
full  of  God,  and  with  him  I  have  both  waked  and  slept. 
What  he  is  doing  with  us  and  for  us  I  know  not,  but  I  am 
sure  that  his  counsel  is  good,  and  will  be  approved  by  us  both. 

Marysville,  April  3, 1856. 
I  have  been  here  now  two  days,  attending  the  two  Conven- 
tions of  the  Presbyterian  and  Congregational  ministers;  also 
their  joint  meetings  and  exercises.  I  have  partly  agreed  to 
stay  here  over  Sunday,  and  assist  in  the  installation  of  Rev. 
Mr.  Walsworth,  with  whom  I  am  staying,  and  whom  I  like 
mightily.  They  have  an  excellent  body  of  ministers  here, 
and  I  like  them  very  much,— fine-spirited,  talented,  and  gen- 
erally accomplished  men.  It  has  been  a  real  satisfaction  to 
me  to  find  how  much  of  real  promise  there  is  in  them.  The 
two  bodies  that  meet  here  now  contain  about  thirty,  and  their 
number  is  all  the  while  increasing.    They  come  together  from 


LETTER  TO  THE  NORTH  CHURCH.  367 

points  three  hundred  miles  apart,  and  some  of  them  liave  not 
seen  the  face  of  a  co-hxborer  for  nearly  a  year. 

I  am  greatly  pleased  with  this  country  in  the  matter  of 
natural  scenery.  The  sail  up  the  San  Pablo  and  Suisun  bays, 
and  the  straits  that  connect  them,  in  the  decline  of  the  after- 
noon and  towards  sunset,  with  the  light  streaming  down  the 
sides  of  the  green  mountains,  was  magically  beautiful.  The 
mountains  here  are  very  peculiar.  They  have  generally  no 
trees  at  all,  but  are  covered  with  wild-oats  to  the  summit ; 
and  yet  their  outline  is  even  metallically  sharp,  and  the  shad- 
ows, cast  by  their  inequalities  and  gulches  and  peaks  and  ra- 
vines, are  deeper  and  more  definite  than  you  will  ever  see  in 
mountains  covered  with  trees.  .  .  . 

I  rode  out  yesterday  on  horseback  with  Miss  O .     We 

took  the  vast  plain  north  of  the  city,  wide,  and  clear  of  all 
obstruction,  literally  covered  with  flowers,  under  a  beautiful 
warm  sun, — the  Buttes,  a  trap-range  most  fantastically  carved 
on  one  side,  and  the  snow-capped  Xevadas  on  the  other, 
stretching  off  north  and  west  for  a  full  hundred  miles, — and 
it  was  the  liveliest  gallop  that  I  ever  enjoyed. 

To  the  North  Church  in  Hartford. 

Nevada,  April  14,1856. 
Mt  deae  Brethren, — The  breadth  of  a  continent  between 
us  does  not  separate  rae  from  you.  Still  I  am  with  you,  long- 
ing after  you,  mingling  with  your  prayers,  watching  in  the 
Lord,  if  not  with  the  actual  vision  of  my  eyes,  for  your 
growth  in  holiness  and  fruitfulness  of  life.  It  is  my  comfort 
that  I  can  have  a  reasonable  confidence,  in  respect  to  so  many 
of  your  number,  that  you  have  been  truly  taught  of  God.  I 
only  fear  that  you  may  still  consent  to  live  on  too  low  a  scale, 
and  surrender  yourselves  too  easily  to  the  spirit  and  power 
of  this  world.  It  is  a  great  evil  of  our  times  that  we  are  so 
ready  to  compare  ourselves  with  one  another,  and  not  with 
the  apostolic  privileges  and  standards.  Living  reputably  we 
consider  to  be  Christian  living ;  or,  at  least.  Christian  enougli 
to  answer  our  purpose.  And  yet  how  certainly  do  you  all 
know  that  being  at  one  with  God  in  his  standards,  walking 


368  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

by  his  light,  feeding  on  his  promises,  is  the  only  real  joy  and 
rest  of  the  soul.  Why,  then,  do  you  ever  consent  to  anything 
different,  or  to  any  lower  and  more  human  standard  ?  Or  if 
you  say  that  you  do  not  consent  to  it,  but  fall  into  it  by  the 
unconscious  gravity  of  your  corrupted  and  treacherous  nature, 
then  why  do  you  fall  into  it?  Is  not  Christ  strong  enough 
to  keep  you  ?  Has  he  not  engaged  to  keep  you  if  you  trust 
him  ?  This,  my  brethren,  he  will  certainly  do  for  you,  and 
more :  he  will  keep  you  rising,  growing  fresh  and  clear,  and 
binding  you  ever  to  himself  with  a  dearer  and  more  con- 
scious affinity. 

I  speak  in  this  manner  to  you,  my  brethren,  not  because  I 
have  any  special  reason  to  distrust  you,  but  because  I  am 
jealous  with  a  godly  jealousy.  I  long  after  you  all,  even  the 
more  heavily  that  I  am  separated  from  you.  And  I  present 
you  to  God  in  my  prayers  day  and  night, — not  that  he  will 
save  you  from  any  public  shame  or  defection,  as  being  worse 
than  others,  but  that  he  will  take  you  away  from  this  present 
evil  world,  as  I  fear  that  you  are  not  yet  taken  away.  I  pray 
that  God  will  make  you  faithful  to  him,  as  you  have  been 
faithful  to  me ;  and  give  you  to  know  that  height,  and  breadth, 
and  length,  and  depth  which  can  be  known  only  by  those 
who  are  bathing  in  the  boundless  flood  and  fulness  of  a  per- 
fect love.  Come  out  of  the  world  into  this  divine  love,  and 
here  abide  ;  loving  one  another  as  Christ  hath  loved  you,  and 
watching  for  one  another  according  to  your  love.  Instead  of 
comparing  yourselves  with  one  another,  and  with  other  disci- 
ples, take  your  beginning  at  Christ,  and  be  what  he  will  have 
you  to  be.  As  I  am  absent,  let  your  responsibilities  be  ex- 
tended by  accepting  my  charge,  in  part,  upon  yourselves.  I 
hope  I  may  yet  be  restored  to  you,  and  to  my  delightful 
work  among  you.  Until  then,  the  grace  of  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ  be  with  you.  Horace  Bushnell. 

Nevada,  April  15, 1856. 
This  region  where  I  am  is  a  new  and  strange  scene.    There 
is  scarcely  a  level  spot  anywhere  to  be  found, — hills  and  hills, 
gulfs  and  gulfs  ;  every  hill  a  stair  on  the  ladder  of  the  great 


NEVADA.  369 

Nevada,  every  gulf  a  deeper  cut  as  the  Nevada  is  neared. 
We  are  now  about  forty  miles  from  the  snowy  summit,  and 
over  two  thousand  feet  above  the  sea.  The  hills  of  the 
whole  region  are  auriferous ;  the  soil  is  poor,  and  yet  they 
are  covered  with  soil, — scarcely  a  rock  breaks  out  to  sharpen 
the  universal  rounding  of  the  surfaces.  At  this  time  they 
are  freshened  by  green  growths  and  flowers,  and  have  in 
many  places  the  show  of  a  beautiful  park  ;  for  though  there 
is  no  cultivation,  the  trees  generally,  especially  where  the  oak 
prevails,  are  not  crowded,  and  there  is  no  undergrowth  of 
shrubs  and  vines.  This  leaves  the  surfaces  beautifully  clean. 
Where  the  pine  prevails,  as  about  this  town,  it  is  more  like  a 
pine-scenery, — a  universal  peering  at  the  sky  of  innumerable 
cones.  I  paced  a  common,  ordinary  one  this  morning,  that 
fell  in  my  way,  and  which  had  just  been  cut  down,  which 
measured  two   hundred  and   ten  feet.     Many  of  them   are 

very  much  higher.     Mr.  K told  me  that  he  had  felled 

one  that  measured  three  hundred  and  fifty  feet,  and  that 
sometimes  they  are  found  as  high  as  four  hundred.  But 
when  you  have  described  the  flaccid,  rounding  surfaces  and 
lines  of  nature,  you  have  done  nothing ;  nature  is  gone,  or  is 
rapidly  going,  never  to  return.  The  sides  of  almost  every  hill 
are  gashed  and  torn,  covered  with  rocks  laid  bare,  and  fresh 
earth  of  all  colors — red,  white,  and  yellow.  You  could  not 
imagine  such  devastation  as  a  possible  thing  to  be  made  in 
seven  years  by  all  the  diggers  of  the  world.  They  go  up  the 
rivers  ten,  fifteen,  thirty  miles,  turn  the  waters  out  in  ditches, 
carry  them  on  along  the  sides  of  the  hills  and  mountains  five 
hundred  or  a  thousand  feet  above  the  valleys,  show  them  me- 
andering around,  overhead,  underfoot,  and  criss-cross  every- 
where, and  let  them  out  by  measure  to  the  washers.  These 
take  them  and  play  into  the  sides  of  the  steep  hills  with  an 
immense  hose,  like  that  of  a  fire-engine,  with  a  fall  of  one 
hundred  feet  or  more,  and  tear  the  hills  all  to  pieces.  Here 
and  there,  and  indeed  everywhere,  will  be  an  acre,  or  five 
acres,  all  carried  off  to  the  depth  of  eighty  or  ninety  feet. 
The  earth  is  carried  off  in  wooden  sluices  that  catch  the  gold ; 
and,  with  the  earth,  pour  along  the  stones,  thumping  and  rat- 


370  LIFE   OF   HORACE   BUSHNELL. 

tling,  till  they  reach  the  rivers.     Those  they  are  filling  up,  so 

that  shortly  they  will  run  in  broad  plains  of  sand  and  stone. 

I  have  been  down  to  a  mill  to-day  on  the  river,  where  the 

river  has  been  filled  up  thirty-five  feet.     This  country  will 

shortly  be  nothing  but  an  immense  scarification  —  a  desert 

of  rocks,  sand-piles,  pits,  and  tunnels. 

As  to  health,  I  don't  know  what  to  say.     The  weather  is 

nothing  but  water  a  good  part  of  the  time.     When  it  comes 

a  fair  day  I  seem  to  be  better,  and  therefore  hope,  but  my 

cough  is  bad  enough.     Sometimes  I  am  a  little  depressed, 

but  generally  hopeful  and  happy.     I  find  the  best  friends, 

who  are  ready  to  do   me   any  favor.      Mr.  H and  his 

wife  are  plain  people,  but  I  like  them  mightily,  they  have 

so  much  heart,  and  are  so  free.     But  my  Heavenly  Friend  is 

closest  of  all,  and  my  peace  is  like  a  river.     I  think  it  has 

never  flowed  with  a  deeper  current,  and  yet  I  am  straining 

nothing.     I  only  try  to  keep  myself  in  the  open  state  by 

just  holding  an  exact  and  steady  practice.     I  am  content  to 

go  if  God  requires  me,  and  yet  I  have  never  so  much  wished 

to  stay. 

San  Francisco,  April  21, 1856. 

This  country  is  most  emphatically  a  new  world.  Every- 
thing is  new  and  strange.  There  is  no  such  thing  as  grass, 
and  yet  at  this  time  tlie  wdiole  surface  is  an  immense  carpet 
of  flowers,  not  rank  and  high, — save  here  and  there  a  few  wild 
larkspurs  and  a  field  of  escolzias  (spell  it  as  you  can), — but  deli- 
cate, minute,  modest,  sprinkled  as  drops  in  a  shower  of  beau- 
ty. The  climate  is  not  a  climate,  but  climates  by  the  dozen. 
Three  days  ago  I  sat  on  a  high  mountain-spur  on  the  Yuba, 
looking  across  an  immense  chasm  full  into  the  snows  of  the 
Sierra  Kevada  twenty  miles  off,  in  a  warm  sun  and  a  soft,  re- 
freshing breeze.  Two  days  after,  I  was  walking  the  streets 
of  Marysville  in  the  afternoon,  in  a  sweltering  heat.  Yes- 
terday I  came  down  by  steamer,  wearing  my  heavy  winter 
coat  all  the  way.  The  soil  in  the  immense  broad  plain  of 
the  valley  is  generally  rich,  without  a  tree  or  a  shrub.  The 
soil  of  the  hills  and  mining  region  is  poor,  yet  covered  with 
immense  trees  two  and  three  hundred  feet  high.     And  yet, 


LETTERS  FROM  SAN  FRANCISCO.  371 

with  all  the  growths  of  ^wood,  there  is  no  wood,  in  the  whole 
extent  of  the  State,  that  can  be  called  hard  timber,  such  as 
would  be  fit  to  make  a  wagon  of, — it  is  all  brittle  or  spalt ; 
or,  as  they  say  here,  hrash.  What  does  this  signify  ?  If 
the  immense  oaks  that  grow  here  and  there  have  scarcely 
strength  enough  to  stand  alone,  what  does  it  signify  as  re- 
gards the  future  men  ?     Will  there  be  any  better  stuff  in 

them  ?  .  .  . 

To  a  Daughter'. 

It  does  not  appear  that  you  expect  anything  in  particular 
to  be  replied  to  in  your  letter,  unless  it  is  to  have  your  ears 
boxed  for  your  laugh  about  the  dear  stiff-necked  beast  and 
her  rider.  Ah,  Bessie,  little  does  the  world  know  how  it 
stands  between  us ;  and  when  we  meet,  what  a  friendly  greet- 
ing it  will  be!  Only  do  not  wink  with  your  two  ears,  lest 
it  should  frighten  our  common  friend,  the  dear  lady  of  the 
buggy. 

The  features  of  the  country  are  very  grand  and  beautiful. 
The  hills  in  this  region  and  to  the  south  are  covered  now 
with  wild-oats,  just  in  their  glory,  green  as  they  can  be ;  seen 
in  the  distance,  with' the  sun  streaming  down  their  sides,  all 
the  hollows  in  shadow,  and  the  high  places  brilliant  as  gems, 
you  can  almost  hear  the  music  of  the  light,  as  if  it  were  a 
hymn.  Strawberries  are  now  beginning  to  ripen,  and  I  saw 
new  potatoes  in  the  street  this  morning.  In  short,  everything 
natural  is  so  peculiar  that  one  is  lost.  There  are  no  seasons 
here,  such  as  I  ever  saw  or  heard  of  before.  While  the  ther- 
mometer at  Sacramento  runs  as  high  as  110°  and  120°  in  the 
summer,  a  good  deal  of  the  time,  they  say  that  they  really 
suffer  less  than  we  do,  because  of  the  cool  nights.  In  the 
mean  time  they  really  suffer  more  at  this  point  (San  Francisco) 
from  raw  weather  in  the  summer  than  in  the  winter.  The 
seasons  are  inverted.  Society,  I  need  hardly  say,  is  quite  as 
strange  as  anything  else.  I  am  going  over,  day  after  to-mor- 
row, to  visit  Mr.  Durant  ;*  and  then,  after  a  day  or  two,  I  am 
going  down  to  Mr.  Beard's,  at  the  San  Jose  Mission.     I  have 

*  His  old  frieucl  and  classmate. 


372  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

just  heard  that  he  will  take  me,  and  invites  me  to  come. 
This  will  be  mj  new  home ;  that  is,  home  without  home. 

San  Jose  Mission,  Ai)nl  28,  1856. 

I  have  just  come  in  from  mj  first  morning  ride  in  this 
place,  and  sit  down  to  give  you  my  impressions  while  they 
are  fresh.  This  is  Monday.  I  came  down,  or  rather  up,  as 
they  say,  from  Oakland  on  Saturday,  riding  through  tlie  rich- 
est garden  of  the  creation  almost  all  the  way.  I  never  saw 
the  like.  Fields  of  wheat  and  barley  two  or  three  miles 
across,  and  such  a  growth !  I  was  very  cordially  received 
by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Beard,  as  I  expected  to  be.  Mrs.  Beard  is 
one  of  the  finest  and  most  interesting  of  women :  sensible, 
easy,  simple  as  a  child,  and  practical  as  one  of  the  out-door 
characters  who  has  seen  all  sides  of  the  world,  the  rough  and 
the  elegant,  and  meets  them  all  with  a  welcome.  Their  house 
is  one  of  the  old  adobe  structures,  walls  four  feet  thick,  built 
by  the  monks  on  three  sides  of  a  square  of  about  two  hundred 
.feet  on  the  sides.  It  is  only  one  story  high,  and  one  room 
wide,  with  a  piazza  all  round,  covered  much  of  the  way  with 
vines.  The  connections  between  the  rooms  are  mostly  on 
the  outside,  from  the  piazza,  which  is  the  hall  universal. 

It  was  something  new  to  come  into  a  vast  garden  filled 
with  old  full-grown  pear-trees  laden  with  fruit,  and  myriads 
of  peach-trees  loaded  to  the  ground,  and  hoary  olives,  and  all 
these  filled  with  singing-birds  in  a  perpetual  chorus  of  mu- 
sic. I  had  seen  before  no  civilized  tree,  and,  strange  to  say, 
had  scarcely  heard  the  song  of  a  bird  at  all.  Indeed,  I  began 
to  doubt  whether  any  bird  could  sing  in  California.  I  need 
hardly  say  that  I  feel  greatly  at  home  here,  and  mean,  as 
things  now  look,  to  be  fastened  here,  as  to  my  centre  of  mo- 
tion ;  which,  perhaps,  is  as  near  the  idea  of  home  as  I  shall  get. 

Now  for  the  ride.  I  turned  into  the  hills,  a  little  way 
north  of  the  house,  and  wound  my  way  along  at  an  easy  gal- 
lop up  through  the  Stockton  Pass.  I  felt  w^ell, — better  than  I 
have  at  any  time  since  I  reached  California,  having  been  upon 
the  gain  almost  steadily  since  the  last  rain,  a  week  before  I 
left  Nevada.     The  air  w^as  fresh  and  bracing;  cool  enough 


STOCKTON  PASS.  373 

to  wear  an  overcoat.  The  clouds  were  flying  in  squadrons, 
and  the  shadows  chasing  across  the  landscape  to  give  it  life. 
As  to  the  hills,  nothing  I  have  seen  could  match  them,  or 
help  me,  by  comparison,  to  describe  them.  They  are  steep 
enongh  to  hang  almost  over  your  head,  rounded  into  piles 
of  graceful  beauty,  showing  scarcely  ever  a  rock  or  a  stone, 
and  never  a  tree,  except  in  the  gorges  where  they  meet,  and 
where  the  springs  and  rivulets  flow  down.  Their  covering  is 
the  intensest  meadow-green,  save  that  often  the  flowers  are  so 
profuse  in  spots  that  the  green  is  covered.  There  the  light 
streaming  down  their  sides,  set  off  by  the  shadows  of  the 
clouds,  makes  them  fairly  laugh.  Indeed,  you  are  like  enough 
to  be  listening  to  hear  them  laugh  aloud.  I  never  saw  such 
combinations — so  lively,  and  fresh,  and  gladsome,  and  withal 
sublime.  After  passing  the  pass,  which  I  believe  is  good 
English,  and  is  a  self-evident  possibility,  I  began  to  catch 
glimpses  and  vistas  reaching  down  into  a  wide  plain  or  val- 
ley ;  and  seeing  a  rounded  summit  at  the  right  of  the  road 
which  promised  to  give  me  a  fine  view,  I  galloped  my  horse 
up  to  the  top  (it  was  only  a  green  melon  one  hundred  feet 
high),  and  there  I  think  I  saw  the  most  exquisitely  beautiful 
sight  that  ever  ray  eyes  beheld.  Away  to  the  south-east  was 
another  valley  or  pass, — through  which,  evidently,  one  might 
climb  into  the  upper  world, — with  a  high  mountain,  whose  top 
was  hid  in  the  clouds,  on  the  east.  Korth,  west,  everywhere, 
green  hills  pitching  about  and  about,  enclosing  the  plain  ;  ir- 
regular slopes  before,  and  a  travelled  road  winding  round  and 
round,  and  showing  itself  far  down  at  many  turns ;  a  river 
meandering  through  the  plain  ;  no  fence,  no  house,  no  other 
sign  of  man  but  the  road  anywhere  visible ;  and  the  flowers 
smiling  in  their  silent  beauty  before  God,  and  breathing  out 
their  incense  to  him.  Oh,  it  was  the  nearest  thing  to  a  gar- 
den of  Eden  actually  extant  that  I  ever  saw.  After  I  had 
reached  the  plain,  I  saw  far  off,  in  the  south  part  of  it,  an  im- 
mense herd  of  cattle,  horsemen  galloping  through  it,  dust 
flying;  and  I  rode  down  to  make  out  what  it  was.  They 
were  the  native  California  herdsmen,  who  had  gotten  all  the 
cattle  of  an  immense  range  of  country  together,  and  were 


374  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

sorting  them,  each  one  getthig  his  own  by  themselves ;  or, 
rather,  for  the  present,  one  getting  his  by  themselves.  Twen- 
ty men  were  in  the  work ;  some  doing  it,  and  some  seeing 
that  it  was  fairly  done,  or  according  to  the  marks.  All  are 
on  horseback,  all  in  motion.  The  owner  rides  round,  wheel- 
ing through  the  immense  herd,  and,  finding  his  mark,  takes 
after  the  bearer,  chasing  it  out.  Another  rides  after,  a  little 
on  the  other  side.  Getting  the  animal  out,  half  a  dozen  oth- 
er men  wheel  in  to  head  the  animal  off  into  the  little  drove 
gathering  a  quarter  of  a  mile  off.  But  the  animal  wheels,  it 
may  be,  and  plunges  to  run  by,  and  then  they  are  after  it 
with  the  lasso.  There  it  goes! — spinning  round  in  the  air; 
it  settles  on  his  horns,  and  is  drawn  tight  by  the  jerk  of  his 
whole  momentum.  Now  he  pitches  at  the  lasso-man  and  his 
horse ;  and  another  lasso  flies,  and  another,  and,  before  he 
knows  it,  he  is  held  fast  by  their  lines,  and  can't  go  any  way. 
Giving  him  a  little  play  so  that  he  can  run,  another  is  after 
him,  and  behold !  he  is  caught  also  by  the  leg  and  jerked  flat 
down.  Poor  fellow !  he  is  caught  like  a  fly  in  a  spider's  web. 
His  courage  is  broken  ;  they  let  him  loose,  and  he  goes  where 
they  will  have  him.  The  next  thing,  we  see  an  immense  bull 
rushing  out,  and  two  horsemen  after  him.  They  have  a  tight 
run  to  catch  him;  finally, one  comes  up  and  seizes  him  by 
the  tail  with  his  hand,  lets  him  draw  awhile,  then  spurs  his 
horse  suddenly  sideways,  and  behold !  the  old  fellow  is  flat 
on  his  side  in  an  instant.  Such  horsemanship  I  never  saw. 
To  them  it  was  work,  but  to  me  it  was  the  most  exhilarating 

show.  • 

San  Josg  Mission,  May  3, 1856. 

...  I  continue  to  be  pleased  with  my  new  Western  home. 
I  could  not  be  more  comfortably  fixed,  away  from  my  true 
home.  I  spoke  of  Mrs.  Beard.  I  am  also  greatly  pleased 
with  Mr.  Beard.  He  is  one  of  the  noblest  native  characters 
I  have  ever  seen.  He  had  bought  a  property  here  of  the 
Mission,  seven  or  eight  miles  square,  the  very  richest  land  of 
the  world ;  he  had  fenced  it  at  an  expense  of  over  one  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars.  But  the  squatters  came  on,  went  di- 
rectly into  his  fields,  took  possession  and  built  houses ;  threw 


THE  VIGILANCE  COMMITTEE.  375 

him  out  of  the  income  from  the  Land,  l\y  wliich  he  was  to  pay 
his  debt,  and  left  liim  to  be  eaten  uj)  by  the  taxes  and  liis  inter- 
est-money ;  so  that,  while  he  was  gettinji;  his  title  established, 
he  was  absolutely  i-uined.  And  just  now  his  principal  creditor 
is  with  him,  selling  out  his  land  to  the  squatters,  now  that  the 
title  is  gained,  in  a  hope  of  merely  squaring  the  debt.  Still, 
he  never  speaks  resentfully  ;  meets  the  fellows  with  kindness  ; 
does  them,  one  and.  all,  any  favor  he  can ;  and  shows  a  big 
human  heart,  full  of  trust,  and  public  spirit,  and  personal 
beneficence,  as  if  they  had  done  him  nothing  but  good. 

I  am  very  glad  to  hear  yon  speak  so  encouragingly  of  our 
prayer-meeting.  May  the  smile  of  God  be  upon  you  there, 
as  I  think  it  certainly  will.  I  have  many  sweet  hours  of 
thought  and  private  communion,  and  seem  to  be  growing- 
easy,  if  I  may  so  speak,  in  the  divine  presence.  God  is  never 
afar  off,  to  be  hunted  for  and  struggled  after.  I  forget 
wdiether  I  have  before  spoken  of  it,  but  I  have  been  greatly 
refreshed  and  blessed,  once  and  again,  by  reading  over,  as  a 
mere  practical  exercise,  the  Epistle  to  the  Romans.  I  never 
before  could  fully  and  even  rationally  enter,  as  now,  into  the 
Apostle's  deep  and  gloriously  magnificent  evangelism.  I  can 
see  the  mighty  fall,  the  deep,  unborn  depravity,  just  as  he 
describes  it,  w'ithout  any  sense  of  extravagance  and  without 
offence  as  against  God.  And  wdien  he  brings  out  the  rising 
side  of  grace, — justification,  spiritual  calling,  and  eternal  pur- 
pose, I  can  hold  a  point  where  the  work  stands  clear,  and 
leaves  the  visible  signature  of  God.  "  Oh  the  depth  of  the 
riches !" — this  I  can  say,  and.  also  feel. 

Sau  Francisco,  May  18,  1856. 

...  I  find  the  city  in  a  great  tumult  of  excitement,  and  the 
Vigilance  Committee  brewing  their  plans  to  lyncli  and  drive 
into  exile  anything  and  everything  that  will  clear  the  city  of 
a  gang  whose  rule  has  become  insupportable. 

...  I  spent  a  very  pleasant  week  at  San  Jose.  It  is  an 
old  agricultural  town,  about  the  only  agricultural  town  in 
California.  It  was  a  sorry  affair  before  the  Americans  came, 
and  is  only  a  little  better  than  sorry  now.  ...  I  believe  I 

25 


376  LIPE   OF   liOllACE  BUSHNELL. 

have  not  told  you,  as  yet,  how  to  build  a  California  house, 
such  as  half  the  houses  of  San  Jose,  including  the  church 
and  the  hotel  in  which  I  stayed,  and  such  as  the  first  crop 
of  houses  are  very  generally.  Set  up  some  wooden  legs  on 
bits  of  plank  that  rest  on  the  top  of  the  ground ;  on  the 
legs  rest  the  timbers  for  a  floor,  and  lay  on  the  floor, — all 
done  so  far.  Then  take  some  rough  boards,  and  nail  them  on 
upright  round  the  outside  timbers  of  the  floor-platform.  On 
these  put  clapboards  without,  or  battens  up  and  down  over 
the  cracks.  Then  nail  on,  inside,  a  slat  to  support  the  tim- 
bers of  the  next  floor,  and,  if  two  stories  high,  the  next. 
Then  stretch  on  smooth,  and  nail  fast  to  the  timbers  over- 
head, a  cheap  cotton  cloth ;  that  is  the  ceiling.  Put  the  same 
on  the  sides,  and  lay  on  paper  on  the  cotton.  Presto,  it  is 
done, — a  house,  a  church,  a  hotel,  an  Oakland  college,  what- 
ever you  will. 

But  my  architectural  study  takes  me  away  from  the  town. 
It  lies  on  a  broad,  flat  plain,  twenty  miles  across.  In  a  good 
season  it  would  present  a  scene  of  the  greatest  imaginable 
luxuriance;  but  now  it  is  all  burning  over  —  wheat,  barley, 
everything — into  the  sere,  dry  state  of  autumn,  by  reason  of 
the  fact  that  the  winter  was  so  dry  as  to  get  no  water  in  the 
springs  for  the  summer's  use.  But  this,  again,  makes  the  ar- 
tesian-wells, spouting  out  their  rivers  in  almost  every  street 
and  yard,  the  greater  beauty.  Some  of  these  wells  throw  a 
stream  into  the  air  twelve  feet  high  that  is  large  enough  to 
turn  a  small  mill,  sweet,  clear,  beautiful, — a  charming  symbol 
of  the  beauty  of  God,  wdio  is  ever  a  grand  water-store  under 
this  desert  of  life  and  sin,  ready  to  well  up  in  freshness  when 
the  conduits  of  the  heart  are  opened  to  its  flow.  I  visited 
the  quicksilver  mines  in  the  vicinity,  at  JS^ew  Almaden.  It 
is  a  charming  spot,  with  a  kind  of  European  air,  and  really 
fine  Swiss  scenery.  The  mine  is  up  in  the  hill,  a  thousand 
feet  above  the  village  and  refining- works,  with  a  beautifully 
grand,  zigzag  road  climbing  up  the  sides  of  a  deep  gorge  in 
the  hill-side.  Here  it  pierces  the  hill  with  a  tunnel  and  rail- 
road, and  then  cuts  right  and  left,  and  up  and  down,  riddling 
the  hill  like  a  honey-comb  to  rifle  its  hidden  contents.     Back 


THE  BIG  TREES.  377 

of  the  mine,  or  just  over  the  top,  under  a  grand  overlooking 
mountain,  opens,  far  down  into  the  lower  world,  a  deep  fun- 
nel-shaped valley,  with  a  patch  of  meadow  at  the  bottom,  and 
the  side-hills  rolling  about  in  fresh  green,  with  oaks  sprinkled 
over  like  a  park,  and  goats  and  donkeys  grazing,  or  bearing 
loads  of  wood  up  to  the  miners'  huts  on  the  top.  Taken  all 
together,  it  is  one  of  the  finest  landscapes  that  I  ever  saw. 

Scan  Francisco,  May  19, 185G. 
I  have  just  returned  from  the  Big  Trees.  The  horseback 
ride  was  one  of  the  most  peculiar  and  charming  I  ever  took, 
— all  the  way  in  the  wilderness  of  the  primitive  state,  save 
that  here  and  there  a  little  squatter  town  appears,  and  a  fence 
runs  around  some  scoop  of  moist  land  between  the  hills ;  or 
you  come  upon  a  saw-mill  or  two,  or  a  miners'  ditch  cut 
through  the  woods,  to  bring  down  water  from  the  Sierra. 
I  call  it  woods,  and  yet  it  was  not  what  we  mean  by  woods. 
There  was  no  undergrowth,  scarcely  anywhere  a  rock.  The 
road  natural,  yet  smooth  and  graceful  in  its  curves  about 
and  about  the  winding  surfaces ;  the  sun  streaming  in,  there 
among  native  oaks,  and  here  among  the  conical  evergreens 
towering  as  giants  by  the  way,  and  casting  all  their  shadows 
distinctly  on  the  green  surfaces,  dotted  with  the  most  delicate 
and  beautiful  flowers  such  as  no  cultivated  garden  ever  pro- 
duced— it  really  seemed  as  if  it  were  some  grandest  park  of 
the  world ;  and  when  I  was  returning,  after  seeing  the  Big 
Trees,  I  was  tempted  to  call  it,  without  any  feeling  of  irrev- 
erence, the  Park  of  the  Lord  Almighty.  In  the  fifteen  miles, 
we  ascended  two  thousand  four  hundred  feet;  and  for  the 
first  four  miles  climbed  up  along  a  gorge  converted  into  a 
continual  cataract,  roaring  and  tumbling  down,  by  the  waters 
of  the  miners'  ditch  turned  into  it.  Then  we  came  out  into  the 
softer  world  above  described,  having  the  artificial  river  some- 
times far  below,  and  sometimes  leaping  across  overhead  from 
one  hill  to  another,  in  a  wooden  flume  sixty  or  eighty  feet 
high,  and,  it  may  be,  half  a  mile  long.  Finally  we  parted 
company  with  the  ditch,  and  went  up  into  the  silent  upper 
world  of  beauty  and  grace,  and  began  at  length  to  see  that 


378  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

the  trees  grew  larger  and  more  luxuriant,  especially  at  tlie 
fpot  of  the  northern  slopes  and  upon  the  lower  grounds  be- 
tween. Descending  gently  along  a  northern  slope,  we  came 
down  thus  at  last,  among  the  files  of  little  giants,  to  the  gate 
of  the  big  giants,  and  entered  the  cleared-ground  yard  of  the 
'•  Big  Tree  Hotel,"  between  "  The  Two  Sentinels,"  three  hun- 
dred feet  high, — the  first  of  the  Washington  Cedars  we  had 
seen,  I  seemed  never  to  have  seen  a  tree  before ;  and  yet 
they  were  only  moderate  in  their  scale  compared  with  others. 
Close  by  the  house  lay  the  first  cut  of  the  Big  Tree,  too  big 
to  be  split  or  handled  in  any  way,  twelve  feet  long.  All  the 
rest  of  the  tree  is  cut  np  and  removed.  Next  this  first  cut 
stood  the  stump,  with  an  arbor  mounted  on  the  top.  This 
stump,  at  the  top,  was  twenty  -  five  feet  across  by  measure- 
ment ;  and  next  the  bottom,  thirty-one  feet.  What  a  vegeta- 
ble !  I  never  till  now  stood  in  awe  before  a  vegetable,  and 
the  stump  of  a  vegetable  ! 

After  dinner  we  were  taken  the  circuit  of  the  grove  and 
shown  all.  What  a  family  of  giants,  but  only  about  ninety 
of  them,  included  all  in  a  space  of  fifty  acres !  This,  I  con- 
fess, was  to  me  the  greatest,  strangest  wonder,  that  nowhere 
in  the  whole  earth  is  there  another  known  example  of  these 
Anakims  of  the  forest.  Their  race  is  small,  but  mighty.  Is 
there — was  there — no  other  piece  of  ground  but  just  this  in 
the  world,  that  could  fitly  take  the  seeds  of  such  a  growth? 
Why  have  they  never  spread  ?  Why  has  no  one  of  the  seeds 
with  which  they  sprinkled  the  ground  ever  started  anywhere 
else  among  these  hills  and  valleys?  And  what  a  starting  was 
it  when  these  seeds  began !  Little  did  that  small  germ,  about 
the  size  of  a  parsnip-seed,  and  looking  much  like  it,  imagine 
what  it  was  going  to  do,  what  feeling  to  excite,  when  it  be- 
gan to  send  up  the  Big  Tree.  This  small  parsni2>seed  -going 
finally  to  open  a  road  and  turn  a  course  of  travel  for  thou- 
sands of  people ! 

At  the  same  time,  it  would  be  wrong  not  to  add  that  two 
things  conspired  to  diminish  a  little  one's  sense  of  effect  in 
seeing  these  wonders.  Many  of  the  trees  are  badly  injured 
at  the  root  or  bottom  of  the  trunk  by  fire,  and  great  cavities 


THE  VIGILANCE  COMMITTEE.  370 

are  opened  in  tliis  manner,  into  which  I  really  think  that,  in 
one  instance,  a  hundred  people  could  be  crowded.  That  man, 
a  living  man,  supposed  to  have  a  soul,  instigated  by  the  in- 
fernal love  of  money,  should  have  cut  down  the  biggest  of 
all,  and  skinned  the  next,  "  Tlie  Mother,"  one  hundred  and 
twenty  feet  upward  from  the  ground, — both  sound  as  a  rock 
at  the  heart,  and  good  for  another  thousand  years  of  growth, 
— oh,  it  surpasses  all  contempt !  Such  a  man  would  have 
skinned  his  own  mother,  I  am  sure,  for  the  same  cause.  This 
fact  vexes  one  unutterably ;  and  vexation  does  not  sort  well 
with  sublimit3^  And  yet,  to  see  this  Spartan  mother  still 
growing  on,  bearing  her  foliage  and  ripening  her  seeds,  and 
refusing  to  die,  hiding  still  her  juices  and  working  her  pumps 
in  the  deep  recesses  of  her  barkless  bodj^,  which  the  sun  of 
two  whole  years  cannot  season  through,  is  a  spectacle  so 
grand  as  almost  to  compensate  for  the  meanness  and  base- 
ness of  the  scamp  wlio  has  moved  our  contempt  so  inoppor- 
tunely. 

The  other  detraction  alluded  to  is  the  loss  of  poetry  occa- 
sioned by  a  discount  of  the  certain  extravagance  of  the  calcu- 
lations that  are  circulated  in  respect  to  the  age  of  the  tree ;  as 
if  it  was  growing  when  Athens  left  the  quarry,  or  Thebes 
displayed  her  hundred  gates,  or  before  the  fall  of  Troy,  or, 
perchance,  before  the  old  red-sandstone  age  of  geology.  It 
is  old  enough,  magnificently  old ;  but,  as  we  proved  beyond 
a  doubt,  by  counting  the  circles,  not  a  day  over  twelve  hun- 
dred and  seventy-five  years. 

Yesterday  was  a  strange  day  for  Sunday.  A  sermon  in 
the  morning  that  encourages  the  Vigilance  Committee  to 
take  the  law  into  their  own  hands ;  arriving  at  the  hotel,  a 
vast  multitude  of  people,  seen  from  the  four- story  piazza, 
thronging  round  the  prison  far  up  on  the  side  of  the  hill ; 
shortly,  a  rush  or  moving  current  pouring  across  our  street 
down  to  the  Vigilance  Committee  rooms,  showing  that  Casey 
and  Cora  are  in  the  hands  of  the  people.  To-day  they  are  to 
have  their  trial,  I  understand,  before  a  jury  not  of  the  law, 
and  will  undoubtedly  be  hung. 


380  LIFE   OF  HORACE  BUSIINELL, 

May  20. 
I  have  been  hoping  that  the  steamer,  now  due  for  more 
than  a  M'eek,  would  arrive  and  bring  me  a  letter.  But  she 
does  not  appear.  Meantime  the  steamer  that  was  to  sail  to- 
day broke  her  piston,  and  waits  till  to-morrow.  It  seems 
to  me  that  everything  is  out  of  order  here.  Commerce  and 
trade  depressed,  agriculture  discouraged  by  unwonted  drought, 
the  Panama  difficulty,  the  Nicaragua  difficulty ;  the  steamers 
in  confusion,  and  friends  waiting  anxiously  for  the  one  that 
does  not  arrive  ;  and,  more  than  all,  the  cit}^  hung  to-day  with 
mourning  for  the  death  of  Mr.  King ;  and  the  Vigilance  Com- 
mittee sitting  on  the  life  of  two  malefactors  W'ho  will  un- 
doubtedly be  hung  to-morrow.  Never  did  I  see  such  an  ex- 
citement, or  one  so  full  of  sadness.  Everybody  is  sad ;  only 
there  is  a  marvellous  agreement  of  the  people  in  the  terrible 
proceedings  on  foot.  Guards  are  patrolling  night  and  day ; 
the  street  before  the  committee -rooms  is  filled  with  people, 
business  all  suspended,  stores  shut.  Well  is  it  that  in  so 
great  disorder  there  is  no  violence.  Dreadful  retribution 
this  for  villanies  that  were  riding  down  all  law^  and  justice ! 
The  day  could  not  but  come  at  last;  if  not  j)^^ fas,  then^^?* 
nefas.  God  grant  that  now"  a  deliverance  may  come  to  this 
unhaj)py  city  and  people !  But  I  fear  the  remedy  itself  is 
almost  as  bad  as  the  evil 

Mission  San  Jose,  June  3, 1856. 

I  had  a  nice  bit  of  a  walk,  one  afternoon  of  last  week,  np 
what  is  called  the  Mission  Peak.  The  Peak  is  quite  high, 
four  times  as  high  as  the  Bolton  Mountain  or  the  Waramaug 
Pinnacle  ;  that  is,  about  two  thousand  five  hundred  feet.  The 
walk,  besides  the  heavy  climb,  was  about  eight  miles  long, 
and  I  got  home  abundantly  tired.  The  mountains  about 
here  are  very  diflierent  from  ours,  you  must  know.  They 
have  no  trees,  except  that  where  there  is  a  deep  gorge  wind- 
ing round,  so  as  to  get  away  from  the  west  wind,  there  will 
be  scattered  evergreen  oaks,  and  sycamores,  and  buckeyes, — 
a  kind  of  dwarf  horse-chestnut, — with  here  and  there  a  close 
undergrowth.  Bocks  and  loose  stones  seldom  appear,  but  the 
smooth,  meadow- sided  hills  are  piled  up  one  upon  auother. 


PARK   AND   CHURCH.  381 

and  tossed  about  in  wild  confusion,  covered  in  the  early- 
spring  with  a  fresh  growth  of  green  wild-oats,  and  later  with 
the  same  dried  white.  The  change  is  now  going  on,  and 
is  about  half  made.  But  far  up  in  the  higher  regions  the 
landscape  is  still  green,  retaining  its  profusion  of  wild  flow- 
ers. Away  up  in  this  upper  world  there  are  vast  ranges  of 
the  most  beautiful  pasture ;  and  the  Peak  looks  down  upon 
them,  dotted  with  their  dark  tree-tops,  and  the  sheep-flocks, 
and  the  fancy-colored  herds  grazing  on  their  surface, — taken 
all  in  all,  a  most  charming  scene.  A  very  different  scene  it 
is  from  Waramaug;  more  naked,  more  pastoral,  less  rugged, 
and  all  on  a  larger  scale.  Oh,  if  it  could  have  that  lake  in  it, 
what  should  we  say  of  it  then  !  But  God  does  not  put  every 
good  thing  in  one  place.  .  .  . 

I  rejoice  to  see  that  the  Common  Council  are  bringing  the 
Park  matter  to  a  close.  I  am  also  glad  to  hear  that  our 
church  are  about  moving  in  the  matter  of  a  new  building. 
They  will  do  it,  of  course,  very  deliberately.  The  more  I 
think  of  this,  the  more  desirable  it  seems,  and  I  really  hope 
they  will  be  able  to  get  on.  If  they  can  get  their  plans  the 
coming  winter,  and  be  ready  for  a  start  in  the  spring,  it  will 
be  all  they  can  expect  to  do.  I  want  no  gaudy,  tricksy  thing, 
but  a  sober,  rational,  right-looking  structure,  adapted  to  wor- 
ship,— one  that  will  look  well  when  it  is  old,  and  dingy,  and 
cracked  by  time,  having  its  commendation  in  the  religious 
chastity  and  propriety  of  its  arrangement. 

To  Mr.  and  Mrs.  A.  31.  CoUins. 

Mission  San  Jose,  June  19, 1856. 
My  dear  Friends,  —  The  hills  and  the  plains  are  now 
spread  over  with  one  universal  Quaker  color,  and  we  expect 
no  rain  again  to  green  them  till  October  or  November.  The 
state  of  the  community  is  not  Quaker,  however,  by  a  good 
deal ;  blood,  and  fire,  and  vapor  of  smoke,  pistols,  bowie- 
knives,  hemp,  and  chivalry,  and  all  sorts  of  hanging  and 
blood-letting  ever  heard  of.  Oh,  it  is  a  beautiful  Aceldama, 
the  like  of  which  has  not  often  been  seen  on  this  young 
world  of  ours !     I  am  sometimes  half  a  mind  to  be  sick  in 


3S2  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

spite  of  the  healing,  so  dismal  is  the  moral  picture  of  this 
new  world.  You  have  no  conception  of  it  at  the  East,  un- 
less you  look  to  a  point  midway  between  both  East  and 
West  ;*  for  there,  as  I  read,  I  am  sick  again.  I  got  The 
Tribune  in  my  hand  yesterday,  and  read  one  line ;  and  it 
tore  my  heart  so  that  I  could  not  read  on,  but  lay  down  ach- 
ing on  the  bed,  and  waited  till  the  afternoon  for  nerve  to 
proceed.  I  did  not  know  that  a  man's  heart  could  make  his 
body  ache  so,  though  I  had  read  Paul's  "  could  wish  that  I 
was  accursed  "  many  times.  I  can  find  no  relief  to  these  op- 
pressive clouds  that  just  now  overhang  our  dear  country  but 
to  pray  and  be  still.  .  .  . 

Mission  San  Jos6,  July  4, 1856. 
It  really  looked,  for  a  time,  as  if  it  was  about  an  even 
chance  that  I  had  come  here  to  die.  That  feeling  is  now 
gone.  Thanks  to  our  heavenly  Father  that  I  am  here,  and 
that  he  gives  me  to  see  so  much  of  his  goodness.  It  makes  me 
quite  a  child  sometimes,  when  I  sit  down  or  kneel  down,  to 
recount  the  mercies  of  God  to  me.  It  seems  to  me  that  few 
men  have  been  so  much  favored  of  God :  my  education,  my 
marriage,  my  settlement,  and  the  wonderful  fidelity  of  my 
people,  and  now  my  good  friend  raised  up  out  of  a  stranger 
to  give  me  tlie  best  possible  opportunity  to  prolong  my  life, 
the  prayers  of  the  righteous,  and,  above  all,  of  the  poor !  Had 
I  been  given  free  pla}'^  in  early  life  for  my  wishes,  what  could 
I  have  wished  that  would  have  been  so  good,  so  glorious  a 
token  of  God's  care  for  me,  and  his  consideration  of  my  per- 
sonal welfare  ?  Other  men  are  nursed  by  their  afflictions,  and 
I  have  had  a  few  trials  myself;  but  the  wonder  is  that  I  could 
have  been  kept  so  uniformly  in  the  line  of  favor.  I  have  not 
been  made  rich,  nor  popular,  nor  a  mark  for  envy  in  any  way, 
and  yet  I  liave  been  always  on  what  men  call  the  fortunate 
side, — not  on  the  sea  of  fortune,  but  coasting  gently  along 
the  shore,  with  the  nicest  harbors  and  landing-places  at  hand 
whenever  they  were  wanted.  So  I  have  had  much  comfort 
and  little  care,  and  my  little  skiff  has  been  kept  sailing  as 

*  Referrinc:  to  Kansas. 


THE  CONDITION  OF  CALIFORNIA.  383 

bravely  on  as  if  it  were  a  galley.  Shall  I  founder  at  last?  I 
think  not.  In  the  past  I  see  a  pledge  for  the  future.  Not 
to  trust  God  now  would  be  even  a  kind  of  folly,  saying  noth- 
ing of  the  wrong. 

I  need  hardly  tell  you,  what  you  will  see  in  the  papers,  that 
California  is  in  a  truly  wretched  state,  never  so  wretched  as 
now.  It  is  really  depressing  to  me  in  this  quiet  nook  of  re- 
tirement, and  a  mere  looker-on.  I  can  hardly  be  a  looker-on 
when  such  dangers  are  pending.  It  would  be  no  surprise  to 
me  to  hear,  almost  any  day,  that  fire  and  murder  were  loose 
in  San  Francisco,  rank  as  in  the  days  of  Robespierre.  I  hope 
better  things,  but  there  is  no  security  for  anything.  The  ar- 
rest of  Judge  Terry,  and  the  question  of  his  life  and  death, 
known  to  be  pending,  makes  the  revolution  more  dreadfully 
critical  than  it  has  been  at  any  time  before.  The  Vigilance 
Committee  are  the  best  men  here ;  I  believe  they  really  mean 
to  do  good,  and  also  that,  in  plucking  down  the  shoulder- 
strikers  and  rescuing  the  ballot-box  from  their  nsurpation, 
they  have  done  a  really  great  and  necessary  work ;  but  they 
ruin  their  cause  when  they  come  to  state  it. 

I  have  written  one  article  for  the  papers,  hoping  to  shed  a 
little  light  on  the  difficulties.  I  have  heard  it  spoken  of  with 
commendation,  but  it  was  printed  with  such  awful  mistakes 
that  I  have  no  pleasure  in  it.  I  am  to  deliver  the  installa- 
tion* sermon  the  day  after  to-morrow,  and  have  written  a 
special  sermon  on  the  text,  Jeremiah  i.  10,  undertaking  to 
show  that,  do  what  we  can  or  will,  nothing  can  make  a  happy- 
community  but  religion.  I  took  this  subject  because  I  shall 
speak,  in  fact,  to  the  whole  State,  and  hope  to  do  good  by  it. 
They  will  hear  nothing  else,  and  this,  I  think,  they  will. 

I  have  been  very  unfortunate  in  losing  my  gold  watch.  I 
fear  I  lost  it  upon  the  highway,  in  which  case  I  shall  never 
see  it  again.  It  was  my  vade-mecum, — a  kind  of  mechanical 
wife,  and  I  miss  it  more  than  I  can  express,  putting  my  hand 
to  my  side  for  it  twenty  times  a  day,  for  a  new  disappoint- 
ment.    Well,  my  good  Brother  Steele  will  never  have  to  re- 

*  Of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Lacy  in  Sau  Francisco. 


38-i  LIFE   OF   HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

pair  it  again  for  nothing.  By-tlie-way,  I  ain  in  a  quandary  as 
to  whether  I  have  written  hira  or  not.  Give  him  my  special 
regards,  and  tell  him  how  much  I  think  of  him  now,  by  com- 
pulsion !  And  yet  I  want  not  that  to  love  him.  He  is  one 
of  the  men  that  keep  time  in  the  heavenly  marcli. 

These  are  dark  times.  I  could  not  read  the  Kansas  news 
without  throwing  down  the  paper  and  waiting  till  next  day. 
When  I  told  a  Nantucket  Yankee  in  the  house  what  was  the 
news,  and  he  replied,  "I  am  glad  on't,"  I  blew  out  on  him  in 
such  an  explosion  as  I  think  he  will  remember.  I  never  gave 
such  a  setting  down  to  any  mortal,  and  was  half  a  mind  to  be 
ashamed  of  it  next  day,  but  he  had  absconded  before  break- 
fast. Here,  too,  are  we  waiting  for  the  wounded  man  Hop- 
kins to  live  or  die,  on  which  probably  depends  the  life  of 
Judge  Terry,  on  which  depends  I  don't  know  what, — I  trem- 
ble to  guess.  But  God  reigns.  Amen,  my  soul,  to  that.  Oh, 
how  good  it  sounds  ! 

To  the  Rev.  Samuel  II.  Willey,  Secretary  of  the  Board  of 
Trustees  of  the  College  of  California. 

Sau  Francisco,  July  10, 1856. 

T)ear  Sm, — The  resolution  of  your  Board,  inviting  me  to 
the  Presidency  of  the  College  of  California,  I  have  sufficient- 
ly considered  to  return  the  qualified  answer  that  appears,  b}" 
the  terms  of  it,  to  be  expected. 

I  am  duly  sensible  of  the  honor  conferred  on  me  by  their 
appointment, — an  honor  which  is  only  the  greater,  in  fact, 
that  the  College  can  hardly  be  said  to  exist,  and  is,  as  yet,  to 
be  created. 

I  will  interest  myself  at  once  in  the  institution,  and  will 
endeavor  to  do  what  I  can,  privately,  during  the  two  or  three 
months  to  come,  to  excite  an  interest  in  it,  and  to  assist  you 
in  plans  regarding  its  endowment  and  its  final  location,  if  a 
change  in  this  latter  respect  should  be  deemed  desirable.  In 
this  manner  I  shall  be  able  to  learn  what  friends  it  is  likely 
to  have,  or  whether  it  will  have  any  whose  views  are  suffi- 
ciently expanded  to  fulfil  conditions  that  must  be  fulfilled, 
in  case  I  should  finally  assume  the  office.     Further  than  this. 


niESIDENCY  OF  THE  COLLEGE  OF  CALIFORNIA.       385 

I  can  make  no  definite  answer  at  present ;  but  that  you  may 
take  up  no  expectations  which  will  lead  you  into  disappoint- 
ment, I  feel  it  to  be  my  duty  to  state  to  you  frankly  on 
wliat  ground  I  choose  to  stand. 

I  am  a  Christian  pastor,  holding  a  very  peculiar  relation  to 
my  flock,  because  of  their  most  honorable  and  very  unexam- 
pled steadfastness  and  fidelity  to  me  in  times  of  public  trial. 
I  can  never  think  it  honorable,  either  to  me  or  to  religion, 
that  I  should  leave  them,  unless  by  the  compulsion  of  a  stern 
necessity.  Whenever  it  is  clear  that  I  can  be  of  no  service  to 
them  longer,  they  will  rejoice,  I  know,  to  have  me  placed,  if 
possible,  where  I  can  serve  others.  Such  a  contingency  may 
happen.  I  have  ascertained,  I  think,  that  I  can  live  here  in 
sufficient  force  to  be  useful.  I  may  find  that  I  cannot  there. 
In  that  case,  I  may  be  willing  to  assume  the  office  you  tender. 
I  say  not  that  I  will.  It  will  depend  partly  on  the  prospects 
I  may  seem  to  have  discovered  of  the  necessary  endowments ; 
partly  on  what  may  seem  to  be  due  to  my  family. 

In  the  mean  time,  if  you  fall  upon  the  name  of  any  person 
who,  you  think,  will  sustain  the  office  eifectively,  and  you  be- 
come convinced  that  longer  delay  is  likely  to  be  detrimental 
or  fatal  to  your  undertaking,  I  will  make  room  at  any  mo- 
ment for  another  appointment. 

With  high  consideration  for  your  Board,  and  a  most  fer- 
vent interest  in  your  undertaking,  I  am  yours, 

Horace  Bushnell. 

To  the  North  Church  and  Society. 

Martinez,  Cal.,  July  14, 185G. 
Brethken  and  Friends, — You  w^ill  hear  from  the  papers 
and  otherwise  that  I  have  just  received  the  appointment  of 
President  of  the  College  of  California.  The  appointment 
was  tendered  to  me  in  the  understanding  that  I  was  neither 
to  accept  nor  decline  it  absolutely,  but  to  wait  on  Providence. 
To  prevent  any  misunderstanding  that  might  loosen  at  all 
the  tie  which  has  bound  us  together  in  a  relation  so  dear  to 
me  for  so  many  years,  I  thought  fit  to  give  a  written  answer 
that  might  be  published.     This  answer  you  will  see.     If  you 


386  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSIINELL. 

receive  it  in  the  impression  I  myself  entertain  of  it,  the  chances 
of  my  separation  from  you  will  be  neither  increased  nor  di- 
minished. The  understanding  I  have  with  the  Trustees  is 
positive,  that  I  will  never  allow  the  thought  of  a  separation 
from  you,  even  for  a  moment,  except  in  a  contingency  that 
involves,  in  itself,  the  fact  of  a  practical  separation.  My 
health  is  now  so  far  restored  that  I  have  a  strong-  confidence 
of  being  able,  in  about  four  months,  to  resume  my  duties. 
This  is  the  desire  of  my  heart,  and  the  burden  of  my  contin- 
ual prayer  to  God.  No  earthly  attraction  draws  me  but  this. 
Day  and  night  my  longing  is  after  my  dear  flock.  Still,  I 
cannot  hide  from  myself  the  possibility  that  a  return  to  the 
moist  climate  of  the  East  may  bring  on  a  recurrence  of  my 
difficulties;  and  it  may  be  God's  design  to  compel  a  change 
and  bring  me  into  some  other  field.  If  so,  I  must  submit  to 
him,  and  I  have  confidence  in  you  that  you  will  also  submit 
to  him  as  implicitly  as  I.  Assuming  that  you  will  deem  it  an 
affliction,  it  cannot  be  as  great  an  affliction  to  you  as  to  me. 
I  have  always  had  it  for  my  hope,  if  not  my  ambition,  that  I 
might  be  able  to  close  my  work  in  the  place  where  it  began — 
to  do  my  whole  work  among  you,  and  die  with  you.  .  .  . 

May  God  put  it  in  our  hearts  to  review  the  past  before 
him,  rectify  all  our  omissions,  and  restore  all  our  defects  of 
duty.  So  let  all  obstructions  be  removed,  that  we  may  still 
abide  in  our  happy  union,  as  in  the  many  years  gone  by. 
The  grace  of  our  God  be  upon  us  evermore. 

Your  pastor,  Hoeace  Bcshnell. 

Sau  Francisco,  July  18, 1856. 
To  give  you  my  history  for  the  last  fortnight  in  order,  I 
left  the  Mission,  the  day  after  I  wrote  you  last,  for  this  place, 
to  preach  Mr.  Lacy's  installation  sermon.  I  preached  on  Sun- 
day evening,  and  had  a  grand  audience,  whom  I  occupied  for 
about  an  hour  and  twenty  minutes.  I  remained  here  five  or 
six  days,  to  see  the  sermon  through  the  press,  during  which 
time  I  was  honored  with  the  appointment  of  President  of  the 
College  of  California.  Don't  be  frightened.  I  am  not  yet 
settled  in  the  office.     I  gave  them  my  answer  at  once,  which 


PROSPECTING  FOR  A   COLLEGE   SITE.  387 

you  will  see.  I  also  went  directly  into  the  Board  of  Trustees 
and  told  them  what  I  should  answer,  and,  by  their  request, 
consented  to  act  with  a  committee,  already  raised,  to  select  a 
final  location.  Accordingly,  I  set  off  on  Friday  for  Martinez, 
a  small  town  with  whose  beauty  I  had  been  struck  in  sailing 
by,  some  eight  weeks  ago.  Here  I  have  stayed,  examining, 
trying  climate,  riding  over  the  whole  region  adjacent,  etc., 
till  yesterday  (Thursday).  Last  night  I  came  down  in  the 
steamer,  on  my  way  back  to  the  Mission,  staying  over  to-day, 
consulting,  etc.  In  about  three  weeks  I  shall  come  up  again 
to  visit  Martinez  with  the  Trustees,  or  with  as  many  as  can 
go.  I  have  been  to  two  or  three  other  locations  near  by,  and 
there  is  also  another  near  the  Mission.  I  have  gone  into  this 
C071  mnore,  as  you  know  I  naturally  would.  It  is  an  occupa- 
tion, and  a  most  pleasant  and  refreshing  one. 

Mission  San  Jose,  August  19, 185G. 
It  is  very  fortunate  for  me  that  I  have  this  matter  of  pros- 
pecting for  a'  college  on  hand,  as  it  is  an  employment  out- 
doors, and  one  that  exactly  suits  my  taste.  Only  it  would 
not  exactly  suit  my  taste  to  be  eaten  by  a  bear,  though  it 
might  the  taste  of  the  bear, — a  strangely  vicious  bear,  if  it 
would !  There  is  a  ravine  four  miles  north  of  tliis  place, 
where  the  Alameda  Creek  breaks  through  the  mountains, 
which  are  twelve  hundred  feet  high  on  one  side,  and  twice 
that  on  the  other.  It  is  a  fearfully  wild  place;  but  I  want- 
ed to  see  how  I  might  get  through  it,  and  arranged  with 

Mr.  B to  go  a-fishing  with  him.     He  became  tired,  and 

sat  down, — for  it  was  a  fearfully  hot  day, — waiting  for  me 
to  go  on  and  complete  my  explorations.  After  I  had  got  on 
through  the  bushes  and  rocks  fifty  or  sixty  rods,  it  occurred 
to  me  that  it  would  be  a  beautiful  place  for  a  grizzly  to  make 
his  appearance,  and  I  had  not  got  ten  rods  farther  before  I 
heard  the  bushes  crashing  as  if  a  bull  were  trampling  them, 
just  over  a  little  swell  or  dike  between  me  and  the  creek.  I 
saw  no  bear,  and  really  did  not  want  very  much  to  see  one ; 
but  I  did  want  to  run  very  much,  only  I  had  a  little  pride 
about  it,  and  so  I  compounded  for  a  walk.     Meantime,  as  I 


388  LIFE   OF   HORACE   BUSHNELL. 

had  left  Mr.  Ilosmer's  dirk -knife  at  liome,  I  took  out  my 
small  knife,  opened  the  largest  blade,  and  carrying  that  in 
my  hand  for  defence, — about  as  good  defence  as  a  pin  would 
make, — I  marched  back  Tiery  straight.  That  it  was  a  grizzly, 
I  hav^e  no  doubt.  There  is  no  track  or  sign  of  cattle  passing 
here,  and  the  tracks  of  grizzlies  are  often  found.  So  it  is  my 
felicity  to  think  that  I  have  been  within  four  rods  of  a  griz- 
zly, and  got  off  safe !  At  the  upper  end  of  this  gorge  it 
opens  out  into  the  Sunole  Yalley,  the  place  which  is  in  itself 
my  favorite  location  for  a  college.  It  is  not  very  much  like 
college  life  to  be  eaten  up,  so  close  at  hand,  by  a  bear. 

Mission  San  Josg,  September  3, 1856. 

I  went  out  yesterday  morning  to  my  College  paradise,  to 
go  through  a  series  of  levels  and  measures  of  distance,  to  find 
whether  the  water  will  run  to  the  ground,  and  how  far  it 
must  be  brought.  I  drove  a  pair  of  mules  ten  miles  and 
walked  twelve  miles,  working  at  the  engineer's  tools  all  the 
wdiile,  and  keeping  my  feet  all  day  from  morning  to  night, 
except  what  time  I  was  in  the  wagon.  I  ate  nothing  till 
dusk,  when,  out  of  a  sense  of  the  need,  when  I  did  not  want 
it,  I  ate  a  pretty  full  dinner.  But  I  had  no  power  left  for 
digestion.  I  went  to  bed  and  rolled  all  night,  sleeping  only 
about  an  hour  just  at  dawn.  I  was  never  so  completely 
fagged,  though  I  really  did  not  know  it  till  after  I  went  to 
bed.  This  morning  I  was  obliged  to  go  over  again  on  horse- 
back, and  I  have  just  now  returned  (three  o'clock  p.m.).  I  was 
obliged  to  press  this  matter  so  hard,  because  Mr.  McLean,  an 
engineer,  one  of  the  Trustees,  had  come  up  from  San  Fran- 
cisco to  make  the  examination,  and  could  get  on  with  it  only 
by  the  help  of  another.  I  hurried  and  pressed  yesterday  af- 
ternoon to  get  on,  but  we  could  not  finish.  You  would  have 
laughed  to  see  me  running  with  the  rod  from  one  station  to 
another,  sometimes  half  a  mile. 

The  Republicans  are  now  getting  on  here  finely ;  I  think 
they  will  carry  the  State. 

My  friend  Mr.  Rankin,  greatly  to  my  surprise,  is  nomi- 
nated for  Congress.     If  he  succeeds,  California  will  for  once 


DIRECT  REVELATIONS.  389 

have  an  incorruptible  and  spotless  man  in  the  national  coun- 
cils. I  can  hardly  tell  you  what  a  relief  it  is  to  hear  how  the 
fire  catches  on  the  eastern  shore.  God  grant  that  we  may 
now,  at  last,  see  the  tide  of  barbarism  and  misrule  turned ! 

Mission  San  Josg,  September  18, 1856. 
I  omitted,  or  forgot  in  my  last,  to  follow  up  my  bear  story 
in  the  previous  letter.  I  was  up  in  the  hills  over  the  gorge, 
where  I  didnH  see  the  bear,  and  asked  a  squatter  there  if  they 
ever  saw  anything  of  bears  thereabout.  "  Yes,"  said  he  ;  "  my 
son  found  the  tracks  of  one  this  morning,  a  little  way  off, 
prowling  about  to  get  hold  of  my  cattle."  The  very  next 
day  I  heard  that  he  and  his  son  had  been  very  nearly  killed 
by  the  bear.  Happily  they  are  now  recovered,  but  it  was  a 
narrow  escape.  Since  then  the  bear-tracks  have  been  seen 
down  in  the  gorge  itself.  In  my  rides  and  explorations,  I 
have  grown  a  good  deal  shy  lately ;  and  clambering  up 
through  the  deep  ravines  and  bushes  alone  in  search  of  wa- 
ter has  come  to  be  quite  out  of  fashion. 

The  weather  now  is  coming  to  the  turn  here.  It  begins 
with  now  and  then  a  day  of  east  wind,  blow^ing  hot  from  the 
San  Joaquin  Yalley,  reversing  the  cool  west  wnnd  of  the  sum- 
mer. We  have  had  three  such  days — days  baking  hot — and 
this  is  one.  But  I  keep  in  my  adobe  shell,  as  cool  as  a  cu- 
cumber. We  have  even  had  a  shower, — a  most  remarkable 
thing  for  the  season ;  only  the  mere  skirt  of  it,  however,  has 
moistened  us.  I  forgot  to  say  that  we  had  thunder  with  our 
shower,  which  is  here  a  great  curiosity, — more  curious  and 
strange  even  than  an  earthquake.  I  am  doing  very  well,  I 
think,  still,  in  the  matter  of  health.  I  have  preached  in  all 
seven  times, — the  last  time  more  like  myself  than  at  any  oth- 
er, and  with  no  bad  effects.  I  am  almost  tempted  sometimes 
to  go  upon  the  stump,  when  I  see  such  cringing  of  Northern 
men  as  I  do  here ;  the  devil  tries  to  make  me  think  it  a  relig- 
ious duty,  but  he  won't.  I  get  off  only  by  telling  him  that  I 
am  not  open  to  conviction. 

Now  to  your  catechism :  Does  God  make  direct  revelations 
to  men  now  ?     Did  he  of  old,  then  why  not  now  ?     Does  not 


390  LIFE   OF  HORACE   BUSHNELL. 

the  pei'sonalitj  of  God  imply  it  ?  In  some  sense  I  think  it 
does,  and  that  a  kind  of  latent  pantheism  is  a  considerable 
ground  of  unbelief  on  the  subject,  which  latent  pantheism 
reaches  farther  than  is  commonly  supposed.  To  this  general 
view  I  have  been  held  in  writing,  before  I  was  put  to  the 
question  by  your  letter.  The  more  I  ponder  these  subjects, 
the  more  my  mind  runs  to  this  conviction — that  as  God  is 
what  he  was,  and  men  what  they  were,  so  what  has  been  be- 
tween God  and  man  is  likely  still  to  be.  But  this,  too,  I  be- 
gin to  see  more  clearly,  is  not  the  end  of  the  subject.  Going 
thus  far,  there  are  yet  considerations  which  must  be  admitted 
as  having  a  qualifying  power. 

1.  "We  do  not  see  all  the  mental  struggles  through  which 
the  prophets,  for  example,  passed.  It  was  not  a  sceptical  age, 
but  they  must  have  had  a  great  many  doubts  at  times  wheth- 
er they  were  this  or  that,  taught  or  not.  "We  occasionally  dis- 
cover this  in  their  modes  of  expression.  But  they  common- 
ly spoke  at  the  flood,  when  they  were  most  positive,  and  we, 
therefore,  see  little  of  the  ebb ;  still  less  of  the  process  by 
which  the  young  prophet  came  on  so  as  to  dare  to  think  him- 
self a  prophet.  The  true  method  here  is  to  invert  our  law  and 
say  that,  as  we  look  to  see  now  what  has  been  of  old,  so  we 
are  to  judge  that  the  men  of  old  had  just  such  struggles  of 
thought  about  themselves  as  we  have  now,  apart  from  oui- 
pantheism  and  habitual  unbelief.  Considering,  then,  how  few 
times  they  came  to  the  flood  and  spoke,  we  have  a  consider- 
able limitation  on  our  revelations,  or  the  hope  of  them. 

2.  These  prophets  and  men  of  distinct  revelation  were  few 
in  number.  We  look  back,  and  think  we  see  many.  Put  the 
centuries  in  between  them,  and  tliey  scatter  into  extreme 
rarity.     Why  should  they  be  more  frequent  now  ? 

3.  There  are  two  kinds  of  inspiration,  as  I  have  lately 
seen  more  distinctly  than  before.  There  is  the  inspiration 
of  character,  and  the  inspiration  of  use :  one  that  God  gives 
to  make  us  better  and  reveal  himself  in  us ;  the  other  to 
qualify  us  for  a  use,  to  write  a  book  of  scripture,  for  exam- 
ple, to  "devise  cunning  works,"  etc.  The  grand  general 
principle  is  that  he  works  or  breathes  in  men  for  their  own 


MODES  OF   INSPIRATION.  391 

benefit,  and  to  prepare  for  the  uses  of  benefit  to  wliicb  lie 
will  put  tliem  in  the  world.  To  all  men  he  gives  the  first  in- 
spiration, and  to  all  men  the  last.  But  in  the  last  they  are  not 
all  wanted  to  be  revealers  or  prophets,  but  some  to  be  shoe- 
makers and  bankers,  etc.,  etc.  Therefore,  the  kind  of  power 
he  is  in  these  is  a  power  in  their  natural  judgment  and  ex- 
ecutive force,  and  not  any  power  of  revealing  his  secrets  to 
men,  or  writing  scripture  for  them.  He  wants  only  a  few 
for  this  use,  and  gives  only  a  few  the  requisite  inspiration. 
Are  all  prophets  ?  Are  all  workers  of  miracles  ?  No.  It  is 
even  competent  for  him  to  say  that  he  wants  no  more  script- 
ure written,  and  he  is  the  judge.  The  fact  that  it  is  written 
may  be  a  good  reason  why  it  should  not  be  any  more.  The 
inspiration  of  use  is  measured  by  the  want  of  it.  The  other 
is  universal,  because  it  needs  to  be. 

4.  The  kind  of  handling  God  gives  to  his  people  will  re- 
spect their  age,  modes  of  thought,  life,  and  state  of  advance- 
ment. While  he  is  thus  as  nigh  as  he  ever  was  to  any  age, 
communicating  to  us  as  freely,  it  may  be  that  the  very  thing 
he  wants  now  is  to  square  us  down  to  laws  and  terms  of  or- 
der ;  not  to  amuse  us  and  call  us  off  by  casual  things,  wonders, 
prophecies,  and  the  like.  That,  after  all,  was  a  poor,  vagrant 
age.  If  he  can  finally  get  us  to  looking  after  gifts,  and  graces, 
and  answers  by  fixed  laws,  that  may  be  the  real  harvest  of  the 
Spirit,  as  it  is  the  harvest  of  physical  production. 

On  the  whole,  not  excluding  visions  and  revelations  when 
God  sees  fit  to  give  them,  I  do  not  think  that  we  can  argue 
from  the  past  to  their  commonness  now  or  hereafter.  As  to 
the  hearing  of  prayers,  that  appears  to  be  the  want  of  every 
age,  and  comes  to  a  little  different  point  from  the  matter  of 
revelations.  If  we  knew  how  to  pray  by  law,  it  would  be  all 
the  better. 

Mission  San  Josg,  October  3, 1856. 

I  do  not  feel  very  much  pressed  with  the  final  question  as 
yet.  I  recoil  from  it.  And  yet,  while  I  shy  the  subject  in 
this  manner,  I  am  haunted,  about  half  the  time,  by  the  feel- 
ing that  I  am  getting  so  far  into  the  matter  that  I  can 
never  get  out.     Whom  can  I  trust  with  one  of  my  ideals  to 

26 


392  LIFE   OF  HORACE   BUSHNELL. 

take  it  up  and  go  on  with  it,  when  it  is  a  mere  ideal,  and 
nothing  lias  come  into  the  solid  to  guide  the  future  develop- 
ment ? 

.  .  ,  We  talk  of  water  here  just  as  the  Scriptures  do.  It  is 
precious,  I  never  could  understand  why  so  much  should  be 
made  of  water.  But  the  springs,  the  dry  brooks,  the  run- 
ning brooks, — all  these  w^ater  terms  come  to  me  here  with  real 
scriptural  meaning.  No  gem,  no  crystal,  no  gold,  no  fruit, — 
nothing  compares  with  water.  And  it  will  not  be  fifty  years 
before  we  have  vast  overarched  reservoirs  here  for  storing 
water  underground,  as  in  the  East. 

You  w^ould  think  that  we  must  be  desolate  beyond  expres- 
sion, surrounded  by  such  dryness.  But  it  is  not  so.  We 
take  the  time  much  as  you  do  the  winter.  It  is  our  winter, 
only  it  is  in  the  summer,  and  is  the  time  of  harvest.  Nature 
is  torpid.  The  leaves  begin  to  fall  off  by  dryness,  the  sap 
falling  away  as  it  does  with  you  for  cold,  and  the  dry  torpor 
coming  on  instead  of  the  cold  torpor.  And,  strange  as  it  may 
seem,  w^e  have  really  beautiful  scenery  now,  though  notliing 
that  we  ever  call  scenery  at  home ;  the  colors  are  all  different, 
and  yet  strikingly  beautiful.  I  w^ish  I  could  transfer  a  scene 
to  you  that  I  looked  on  to-day.  I  rode  out  with  a  clerical 
friend  to  the  summit  that  commands  the  gorge  of  the  stream, 
where  it  breaks  through  the  mountain.  Such  a  gulf — a  thou- 
sand feet  deep,  yellow  on  one  side,  spotted  with  evergreen 
oaks,  and  purple  on  the  other  (the  shady)  side,  spotted  with 
the  same,  and  with  the  brilliant,  glossy  shittim  and  bay  woods ! 
The  colors  put  on  a  landscape  w^ould  be  called  absurd,  impos- 
sible; and  yet  they  are  fact.  How  many  other  impossible 
things  are  fact  in  the  same  manner !  Distant  objects,  or 
far-off  backgrounds,  too,  have  a  peculiar  depth  of  effect ;  the 
smoky  blue  resting  on  the  yellow,  and  gloriously  lighted  up 
by  it,  so  that  as  you  look  you  seem  to  hear  a  kind  of  music 
ringing  in  the  colors. 

My  book  is  done,  and  ready  for  the  press.  But  mark !  in 
writing  the  last  head  the  subject  of  another  book  came  upon 
me  as  never  before,  though  I  have  before  spoken  to  you  of  it, 
— "  the  Laws  of  Grace,"  or  "  the  Laws  of  the  Supernatural." 


LETTER  TO   HIS   CHURCH.  393 

I  see  the  subject  in  a  shape  that  makes  me  more  desirous  than 
ever  to  lay  hold  of  it.  This  would  bring  all  to  practical  issue, 
and  I  tliink  a  great  contribution  would  be  made  to  the  life 
of  religion.  If  I  do  not  fall  into  the  College,  here  is  some- 
thing else  that  I  think  I  will  do. 

To  the  North  Church  of  Hartford. 

San  Francisco,  October  19, 185G. 
My  deak  Flock, — It  is  a  little  presumptuous,  it  may  be,  to 
address  you  by  this  title  when  I  myself  am  so  little  of  a  shep- 
herd to  you ;  but  I  can  satisfy  myself  with  no  other  appella- 
tion. Indeed,  I  seem,  in  these  ends  of  the  earth,  to  be  about 
as  close  to  you  as  if  I  was  locally  with  you ;  and  it  is  even  a 
Scripture  idea  that  we  are  alwa3's  where  our  hearts  are.  This 
it  is,  and  not  the  bodj^,  which  fixes  our  locality.  We  are  even 
said  to  have  our  conversation  in  heaven  by  the  same  law.  We 
are  there  among  angels  and  glorified  men,  because  our  long- 
ings and  the  strong  affinities  of  life  are  there.  We  share  their 
company,  talk  with  them  by  a  kind  of  holy  anticij)ation,  and 
so  we  have  our  conversation  there.  And  so  my  conversation 
is  with  you.  If  I  hear  your  prayers,  if  I  enjoy  your  unity,  if 
I  rejoice  in  your  constancy  and  the  confidence  of  your  com- 
mon love,  where  am  I  more  truly  than  among  you  ?  Watch- 
ing, and  waiting,  and  striving,  with  you,  is  no  matter  of  locali- 
ty. Geographical  degrees  do  not  pertain  to  love ;  climates, 
and  zones,  and  seas  are  not  its  boundaries.  The  concert  of 
prayer  is  none  the  less  real  because  it  is  inaudible.  If  I 
think  of  you  in  the  night-watches,  that  is  to  be  with  you  by 
day ;  for  time  is  no  boundary,  any  more  than  space  or  place. 
So  I  call  you  my  flock,  and  must,  till  something  more  potent 
than  either  time  or  place  separates  me  from  you,  and  that  I 
think,  will  never  be.  When  you  betray  my  confidence  or  I 
desert  your  welfare,  when  some  root  of  bitterness  grows  up 
between  us,  it  will  be  time  to  imagine  that  we  are  separate. 
Anything  which  breaks  the  cord  of  remembrance  or  separates 
us  from  our  common  Lord,  which  neither  height,  nor  depth, 
nor  any  other  creature  can,  will  finally  sunder  us.  Until  then, 
I  must  call  you  mine, — my  friends,  my  brethren,  the  compan- 


394  LIFE   OF    HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

ions  of  my  toil,  the  supporters  of  my  weakness,  the  patient 
enclurers  of  my  faults,  the  wall  God  raises  against  my  ene- 
mies. How,  then,  is  it  with  you,  my  brothers  in  the  Lord  ? 
Does  the  world  get  no  advantage  over  you  ?  Are  you  still 
instant  in  prayer?  Are  you  faithful  as  you  were  in  good 
works?  Is  your  communion  lively  and  clear?  When  I  come 
among  you,  shall  I  find  you  such  as  I  would,  or  be  compelled 
to  mourn  over  some  of  you  that  have  fallen  away  ?  It  will 
be  a  sad  day  to  me  if  I  find  that  you  have  lost  ground.  If, 
then,  you  have,  any  one  of  you,  slidden  but  a  little,  return 
with  a  hasty  repentance,  and  let  me  find  you  standing  fast, 
the  same  that  you  were,  l^o,  not  the  same,  but  stronger  and 
better.  It  is  not  enough  that  you  hold  your  ground ;  a  liv- 
ing Christian  can  do  better,  and,  if  he  truly  lives,  he  must. 
Not  to  grow  is  to  die.  May  God  be  ever  with  you  and  keep 
you, — keep  you  alive !  He  alone  can  do  it,  and  to  him  only 
could  I  look  if  I  were  with  you  in  the  flesh.  As  ye  have 
learned  Christ  Jesus,  so  be  ye  rooted  and  built  up  in  him.  If 
we  have  sometimes  been  accused  of  denying  Christ,  the  accu- 
sation will  be  true  when  we  are  seen  to  have  no  root  in  him. 
But  if  our  life  is  the  manifestation  of  his,  if  we  feed  on  the 
eternal  bread  of  his  sacrifice  and  resurrection,  then  no  adver- 
sary can  harm  us  or  rightfully  blame  us.  I  shall  now  be  with 
you  bodily,  in  a  time  that  is  rapidly  shortening.  Oh,  that  I 
may  come  in  the  fulness  of  the  blessing  of  the  Gospel  of 
Christ !  The  grace  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  till  then  and 
forever,  be  with  you.  Horace  Bushnell. 


To  Mr.  Thomas  Winship. 

San  Francisco,  October  20, 1856. 
My  dear  Friend,  —  I  enclose  with  this  a  letter  to  the 
Church,  which  I  beg  you  to  jDresent  to  Brother  Hyde,*  with 
my  regards,  and  my  earnest  praj'er  for  his  success.  I  should 
have  written  to  him ;  but  when  I  took  my  pen  I  thought  of 
you   and   yours,  particularly   of   your   afflicted   and   blessed 

*  The  Rev.  James  T.  Hyde  filled  the  pastoral  office  in  Dr.  Bushnell's 
church  acceptably  to  all  during  his  absence. 


LETTER  FOR  AN   INVALID.  395 

daughter,  and  felt  so  drawn  to  her  solitary  lot  of  trial  and 

pain  that  I  turned  from  liini  to  you.     It  is  not  for  M 's 

sake  alone,  however,  that  I  write  you,  but  also  that  I  so  much 
love  the  man,  in  whose  heart  God  has  put  it  to  be  found 
among  the  faithful.  I  have  seen  you  bearing  your  load  pa- 
tiently and  steadily,  and  have  learned  to  value  you  the  more 
highly,  that  I  think  I  have  seen  3^ou  blooming  in  adversity, 
and  bringing  honor  upon  it.  God  himself  puts  a  special  hon- 
or on  them  whom  he  loads  heavily,  and  why  should  not  I  ?  I 
have  known  something  of  trial  in  these  two  years  of  suspense 
and  nothingness,  and  I  sometimes  think  I  am  as  much  honor- 
ed in  this  as  in  things  that  have  worn  a  more  prosperous  look. 
"  The  trial  of  your  faith  is  precious,"  says  One  who  had  a 
right  to  know.     Do  we  not  know  as  much  ?     I  suppose  that 

M continues, — continues,  I  hope,  to  maintain  her  peace, 

and  wait  in  patience  for  her  time.  That  room  is  a  small  place 
for  one  that  has  so  large  a  title ;  that  bed  and  gathered-up 
position  a  narrow  cage  for  one  whose  wings  are  plumed  for 
so  wide  a  flight.  But  the  future  eagle  is  not  any  the  less  an 
eagle  that  it  is  gathered  for  awhile  in  the  compass  of  a  nest. 
Besides,  the  imprisonment  of  the  body  does  not  hamper  or 
confine  the  soul.  That  can  range  and  occupy  the  universe. 
Thanks  be  to  God,  the  mind  that  loves  him  must  be  free. 
Many  a  soul  is  in  prison  that  has  the  body  free,  and  flies  in 
eager  travel  round  the  world.  Many  a  soul  is  loose,  having 
all  eternity  and  space,  that  cannot  lift  the  clod  it  inhabits. 
It  is  even  the  nature  of  true  faith  that  it  scorns  all  outward 
restrictions,  all  bodily  weakness  and  pain.  Tell  your  daugh- 
ter that  when  we  get  some  spring  or  leap,  we  must  needs 
have  some  reacting  base  or  object,  and  that  so  God  is  holding 
fast  her  body  that  she  may  spring  the  higher.  I  say,  tell  her 
this ;  but  she  knows  it.  She  has  found  her  emancipation  com- 
ing out  of  her  bondage.  She  knows  that  her  pains  and  disabili- 
ties have  brought  her  peace  and  strength.  The  chariot  that 
drives  fast  must  be  shaken.  The  silver  that  is  well  refined 
must  be  melted  by  a  fierce  heat.  And  God  is  said  to  visit 
every  morning  where  he  tries  every  moment.  Hold  on, 
pain  -  stricken  child  of  God,  and  you  shall  see  what  in  no 


390  LIFE   OF   HORACE   BUSHNELL. 

mood  of  health  could  ever  be  shown  you.  "  Be  of  good 
cheer,"  says  One ;  "  it  is  I."  He  said  it  in  the  storm,  never 
says  it  in  the  calm  or  on  the  peaceful  shore. 

In  true  Christian  love,  I  am  yours,  II.  B. 

Mission  San  JostS,  November  3, 1856. 
I  am  just  in,  this  morning,  from  my  last  horseback  ride, 
having  preached  yesterday  at  Centreville,  six  miles  off,  and 
then  gone  down  two  miles  farther,  to  spend  the  night  with 
Mr.  Beard's  father.  I  have  been  staying  here  now  a  whole 
week,  in  order  to  vote.  I  expect  to  do  this  to-morrow  morn- 
ing, and  jump  directly  into  the  stage  and  be  off  for  San 
Francisco,  thence  to  Sonoma,  to  do  a  little  more  thorough 
prospecting  there ;  when  that  kind  of  work,  or  rather  play, 
w^ill  be  done,  except  two  or  three  days  of  it  at  Clinton,  after 
I  return,  and  before  the  meeting  of  the  Trustees,  which  will 
be  on  Thursday,  the  12th.  The  dear  little  filly  that  has  been 
wings  to  me  in  my  rides  for  some  time  past,  fairly  danced 
with  fun  as  I  came  home  this  morning ;  and  I  could  not  help 
thinking  that  she  had  some  additional  sense  of  lightness  from 
sympathy  with  me,  in  the  sense  of  my  last  ride  and  to-mor- 
row's first  step  homeward.  I  speak  of  it  as  a  matter  of  joy, 
and  yet  it  is  a  matter  also  of  real  sadness.  I  have  had  a 
stranger's  home  with  these  dear  friends,  and  I  leave  them 
with  great  reluctance.  They  have  done  everything,  and 
spared  nothing,  for  my  comfort  or  even  pleasure.  There  is 
no  place  in  the  whole  world  where  I  could  have  been  as  hap- 
py, or  as  well  cared  for,  as  here, — ^.  e.,  none  away  from  my 
real  and  true  home,  where  my  heart  centres  in  my  blessed 
wife  and  my  dear  children.  I  take  it  as  one  of  the  provi- 
dences of  our  Heavenly  Father  for  us  that  I  was  directed  to 
this  place,  and  allow^ed  to  be  settled  in  the  favor  of  these 
strangers.  In  this  fact  I  see  a  large  part  of  the  healing  in- 
fluence that  has  set  me  in  the  way  of  recovery.  I  cannot  tell 
you,  therefore,  how  tenderly  I  love  these  friends, — so  liberal, 
bountiful,  affectionate,  and  noble-hearted.  I  shall  go  a  long 
way  before  I  find  their  match.  If  I  had  been  a  brother,  they 
could  not  have  been  more  free  or  careful  of  me,  or  more 


COLLEGE  SITE  AT  CLINTON.  397 

ready  to  sacrifice  anything  for  me.  God  bless  them  and 
theirs  forever, — their  trials,  their  children,  the  very  walls  of 
their  house !  And  it  is  a  great  comfort  to  me  that  they  seem 
to  be  as  much  attached  to  me  as  I  to  them. 

We  have  had,  as  yet,  almost  no  rain  here,  though  enough 
has  fallen  at  Oakland  and  vicinity  to  freshen  the  hills  a  lit- 
tle. "We  have  had  several  heavy  frosts  on  the  plain  below, 
but  we  are  a  little  elevated,  and  have  escaped.  Our  garden 
is  rich  in  the  finest  grapes,  pears,  and  figs,  and  we  had  a  fine 
dish  of  strawberries  on  Saturday,  November  1st.  Think  of 
itj — strawberries  from  April  to  November !  The  nights  are 
cool,  but  the  days  are  often  even  hot  as  in  summer.  The 
plains  below  are  covered  with  flocks  of  geese,  and  the  air  is 
alive  with  their  clamor.  Another  peculiarity, — two  or  three 
kinds  of  birds  have  renewed  their  song  as  in  spring.  I  saw 
one  with  food  in  her  mouth,  a  few  days  ago,  indicating  a  pro- 
vision for  her  nest !  This  fact  concerning  the  birds  I  never 
heard  spoken  of,  even  by  the  Californians.  I  began  to  notice 
it  several  weeks  ago. 

I  begin  to  guess  that  we  shall  finally  settle  on  a  site  at 
Clinton,  a  city  that  was  to  be  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  bay 
from  San  Francisco.  The  last  time  I  went  up  in  the  stage  I 
noticed,  while  passing  over  the  plain  about  half  a  mile  across, 
two  promontories  setting  out  endwise  towards  it,  and  present- 
ing beautifully  graded  eminences,  with  a  gently  scooped  val- 
ley between,  which  runs  back  upon  the  same  level  six  or 
eifflit  hundred  feet.  I  said  this  must  be  looked  to.  I  rode 
out  with  Durant  and  McLean  two  or  three  days  after,  and 
found  the  view  from  these  points  magnificently  beautiful. 
Back  in  the  hills  I  clambered  down  into  a  deep  ravine,  and 
found,  to  our  surprise,  a  stream  of  mountain  water  that  will 
run  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  gallons  per  day,  which 
can  be  brought  in,  a  distance  of  less  than  two  miles,  so  as  to 
have  a  head  of  at  least  one  hundred  feet.  I  don't  know  as 
yet  what  terms  we  can  get  for  the  plain.  It  was  laid  ofi 
years  ago  into  a  regular  quadrated  city,  but  has  come  to  noth- 
ing, and  the  owners  talk  well.  But  then  we  have  also  to  get. 
the  right  of  the  stream,  which  I  think  will  not  be  difficult. 


398  LIFE  OF   HORACE  BUSIINELL. 

because  it  sinks  as  soon  as  it  reaches  the  plain,  and  is  seen  no 
more.     The  geography  is  like  this : — 

[A  rough  outline  map  is  sketched  here.] 

You  will  be  struck  by  the  amount  of  green  in  the  foreground 
of  Oakland  and  Alameda ;  by  the  city  sloping  towards  the 
Golden  Gate,  the  shipping  and  the  open  sea  to  be  seen  straight 
through  it ;  by  the  island  and  the  mountains  right  and  left  of 
the  city.  It  is  really  magnificent.  There  is  only  one  fault, 
viz.,  that  the  city  is  too  near,  too  easily  reached  by  the  ferry- 
boats continually  plying.  This  one  fault  staggers  me ;  and 
yet  it  will  make  it  more  convenient  to  live,  and  the  College 
will  excite  a  more  living  interest  in  the  city,  before  which  it 
stands  beautifully  prominent.  There  is  also  more  real  virtue 
and  more  of  good  influence  in  the  city,  with  all  its  vices,  than 
anywhere  else  —  a  more  elevating  and  conserving  power  of 
society. 

San  Francisco,  November  15, 1856. 

It  is  a  great  relief  and  refreshment  to  me  to  hear  that  tlie 
Park  is  going  on  so  finely.  But  the  thing  that  refreshed  me 
most,  and  came  most  like  a  visitation  from  heaven,  was  the 
tenderness  and  brotherly  love  of  dear  Winship.  Oh,  what  a 
depth  of  reason  there  is  in  that  holy  anxiety !  what  an  indi- 
cation it  is  of  real  insight  into  human  weakness !  Few  of  my 
acquaintance,  I  dare  say,  w^ill  ever  think  of  such  a  possibility ; 
and  yet  it  squares,  how  perfectly,  with  all  that  I  know  of  my- 
self and  the  struggles  of  weakness  and  real  frailty  in  my  heart ! 
I  cannot  say,  my  dear  wife,  that  I  have  not  lost  ground  in  my 
nearness  to  God,  but  my  heart  leaps  up,  how  quick,  and  free- 
ly, and  full,  when  I  come  to  what  I  may  call  a  resting-place 
of  thought  and  busy  travel.  I  wrote  Winship  a  letter  by  the 
last  steamer  (I  think  it  was).  I  wish  I  had  known  what  your 
letter  tells  me  before  mine  was  written.  How  strange  some 
of  these  things  are !  Twice  you  have  written  me  to  write 
others  just  when  I  was  doing  it.  Winship  is  weeping  over 
me,  or  for  me,  in  his  prayers,  just  when  I  am  turning  aside 
to  refresh  my  soul  in  communion  with  him  and  get  a  spring 
in  that  communion. 


DESIRE  FOR  A  GOOD  NAME  NOT  AMBITION.  399 

I  left  tlie  Mission  a  little  more  than  a  week  ago,  and  since 
tliat  time  I  have  been  up  again  to  take  a  more  deliberate  view 
of  the  Petaliima  and  Sonoma  valleys.  I  have  also  been  tak- 
ing the  gauge  of  the  Clinton  site,  and  of  all  the  country  north 
of  it  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  bay,  getting  water-levels,  terms 
of  cost,  etc.  For  the  last  two  days  the  Trustees  have  been  at 
work  to  settle  the  question.  I  read  them  a  full  report,  de- 
scribing, as  definitely  as  I  could,  five  places.  The  point  is  not 
yet  quite  decided.  I  am  off  this  afternoon  for  Sacramento, 
to  preach  for  Mr.  Benton,  and  stay  there  and  at  Marysville 
eight  or  ten  days,  prospecting  now  for  the  gold. 

If  I  can  get  a  university  on  its  feet,  or  only  the  nest-egg 
laid,  before  I  return,  I  shall  not  have  come  to  this  new  world 
in  vain.  You  seem  to  fear  that  I  may  be  ambitious  in  it,  af- 
ter some  bad  sense.  I  have  as  good  reason  to  fear  it,  proba- 
bly, as  you,  and  yet  I  cannot  think  that  whatever  any  one 
may  have  done  with  a  certain  respect  to  good  name  is  wrong. 
The  Scriptures  even  make  a  reward  of  it.  If  we  only  look 
for  a  good  name  in  such  a  temper  as  will  just  as  certainly 
encounter  a  bad,  should  it  come,  trusting  God  for  the  name, 
be  it  good  or  bad,  I  do  not  see  that  we  need  be  afraid  of  it. 
At  any  rate,  I  must  own  the  impeachment  so  far  as  this:  I 
should  like  to  be  known  as  having  started  into  life,  on  these 
new  and  distant  shores,  a  university  that  hereafter  will  be 
looked  upon  as  a  great  source  of  light  and  Christian  power ; 
nor,  any  the  less,  to  have  done  it,  when  seeking  my  health,  as 
a  substitute  for  idleness. 

I  am  now  in  good  heart,  wearing  down  every  man,  young 
or  old,  that  undertakes  to  go  riding  and  climbing  with  me. 
Everybody  says,  "  How  well  you  look !"  But  the  play  is  over; 
what  remains  is  work  in  comparison.  However,  I  shall  not  kill 
myself  in  carrying  the  bag ;  for  I  am  more  likely  to  drop  the 
thirty  pieces  as  a  sordid  business,  and  give  it  up.  To  go  a-pros- 
pecting  in  nature  will  do,  but  to  go  a-prospecting  in  the  hearts 
of  mankind  is  different. 

Sacramento,  November  18, 1856. 

This  is  Monday  morning,  and  I  preached  twice  yesterday, 
for  the  first  time,  partly  in  the  way  of  experiment.     I  feel 


400  LIFE   OF   IIOllxVCE   BUSIINELL. 

very  well,  able  to  work,  and  stir,  and  do,  and  wear,  and  yet  I 
have  certain  vestiges  of  bad  sensation  which  shake  a  little  my 
confidence  of  the  future.  Still,  I  should  be  in  excellent  spirits 
were  it  not  for  the  terrible  depression  I  feel  for  the  gone  case 
of  the  election.  Everything  looks  bright  enough  but  that,  so 
that  I  am  permitted  to  see,  in  the  terrible  sinking  of  heart  I 
feel  for  my  dear  country,  how  much  I  love  it,  and  how  great 
a  stake  I  have  in  its  honor  and  its  true  liberties.  I  am  glad  to 
see  that  your  heart  is  so  deeply  alive,  and  your  hands  so  ear- 
nestly engaged,  in  the  cause  of  the  poor  Kansas  people.  If  I 
had  a  son,  there  is  no  cause  in  which  I  would  more  willingly 
see  him  die  than  in  theirs.  One  thing  more :  this  fight  must 
never  be  given  up  ;  we  must  take  it  as  now  begun,  and  only  be- 
gun. On  we  must  go,  working,  reasoning,  fighting  as  for  life, 
till  we  conquer. 

San  Francisco,  December  3, 1856. 

.  .  .  My  great  infirmity  is,  I  know,  that  ideals  are  apt  to  be 
my  tempters,  and  yet  they  should  not  be.  If  they  are  good 
and  great,  they  ought  to  draw  me  closer  to  God.  They  would, 
I  am  certain,  if  I  did  not  sometimes  drop  into  the  external  of 
them,  and  rest  in  what  is  medial.  .  .  .  Our  late  meeting  of  the 
Trustees  did  not  settle  the  question  of  location,  as  I  believe  I 
told  you.  ...  I  am  going  to  set  off,  this  afternoon,  up  to  San 
Pablo,  east  of  the  bay  and  north  of  the  city,  to  see  if  I  can 
discover  another  location,  so  as  to  be  ready,  when  the  Trustees 
meet,  to  report  another.  ...  I  am  not  going  to  shoulder  the 
subscription  business  myself,  but  only  to  get  the  question 
ready  for  others  by  seeing  personally  the  principal  men,  and 
then  calling  together  some  hundred  of  them  to  make  a  state- 
ment and  appeal.     Then  my  work  is  done. 

December  5, 1856. 
I  am  a  good  deal  baffled  in  my  efforts  to  fix  the  College 
site.  Out  of  the  five  places  I  selected  and  recommended,  two 
have  failed,  and  the  third,  I  think,  will.  The  Sonoma  site  I 
could  not  get  at  all.  The  Clinton  fails  because  of  one  or  two 
obstinate  fellows  on  the  stream,  who  will  not  let  the  water  go 
out  of  its  natural  channel.     The  Suuole  I  expect  to  fail  of, 


SAN   PABLO.  401 

partly  because  of  an  unexpected  difficulty-  of  expense  in 
bringing  the  water,  and  partly  because  I  am  likely  to  get  no 
favorable  terms  for  the  land.  My  excursion  just  referred  to 
has  brought  out  another  site,  as  beautiful  as  any,  and  having 
some  advantages  over  all.  I  can  have  water  in  abundance, 
and  the  best,  at  moderate  expense  in  the  bringing,  and  two 
hundred  acres  of  the  very  best  land  for  nothing.  The  sce- 
nery is  water  and  mountain  scenery  combined,  and  that  as 
fine  as  need  be.  The  difficulty  here  is  the  wind  of  the  sum- 
mer months,  which  I  think  is  too  cold  and  too  continual, — 
the  few  trees  of  the  region  being  all  combed  in  their  tops  in 
a  slope,  or  slant  away  from  it,  and  the  very  stubble  of  the 
fields  leaning  off  in  the  same  direction.  The  place  is  called 
San  Pablo.     It  is  a  little  like  this : — 

[Au  outline  map  follows  here,  with  a  description  of  the  scenery.] 

I  arrived  just  at  dusk,  and  found  no  place  open  but  a  little 
dirty  shell  of  a  place,  where  hostlers,  drivers,  and  a  drove  of 
rough  fellows  who  came  up  to  rent  the  lands  were  the  guests. 
We  ate  our  supper  by  three  tables-full  of  fifteen  at  a  time ; 
and  such  a  supper !     The  host  kindly  volunteered  to  get  me 

a  place  to  sleep,  and  succeeded  in  begging  me  into  Mr. 's 

bed  with  him,  at  Sefior  C 's.     Here,  between  dirt,  and 

cold,  and  fleas,  and  a  very  good-natured  bedfellow,  I  spent  the 
night.  Going  over  to  breakfast  at  the  dirty  hole  aforesaid,  I 
was  obliged  to  tell  them  that  I  had  not  washed.  They  gave  me 
the  nastiest  tin  dipper  of  water  I  have  seen ;  and  when  I  went 
in  to  notify  my  want  of  a  towel,  they  brought  me  one  that 
must  have  been  used  by  the  whole  company  for  some  days. 
I  looked  it  over,  and  told  them  that  I  preferred  to  dry  off. 
But  I  recollected  my  pocket-handkerchief,  and  came  off  nice- 
ly. A  breakfast  of  griddle-cakes  and  molasses,  eaten,  not  be- 
cause the  cakes  were  good,  but  because  the  molasses  was  like 
to  be  no  dirtier  than  it  is  always,  made  my  outfit  for  the  day. 

San  Francisco,  December  18, 1856. 
Only  one  month  more, — that  is  all.     I  say  it  very  easily 
when  talking  to  you,  but  not  so  easily  when  talking  to  my- 


402  LIFE   OF   HOKACE   BUSHNELL. 

self.  God  is  certainly  very  good  to  us  all,  and  it  is  no  time 
for  us  to  be  sad  over  any  little  privation  that  comes  with  the 
blessing. 

San  Francisco,  January'  3, 1857. 

This  is  my  last  letter;  I  am  down  for  a  passage  by  the 
Golden  Gate  of  the  20th.  .  .  . 

The  location  of  the  College  is  finally  determined,  and,  what 
will  a  little  surprise  you,  at  a  place  never  before  mentioned, 
viz.,  in  the  Napa  Yallcy.  I  will  give  you  the  history  of  the 
last  week,  that  will  show  you  how,  and  some  things  beside. 
As  I  was  going  down  to  San  Jose  last  Saturday  to  preach, 
the  captain  of  the  boat  told  me  of  a  beautiful  site  about 
three  miles  north-east  of  Napa  City,  where  there  was  a  fine 
stream  of  water.  I  decided  instantly  to  go  there  on  my  re- 
turn. I  left  San  Jose  on  Monday  morning,  and  a  terrible 
gale  took  us  on  the  bay,  that  made  a  rather  serious  time  for 
us,  carried  off  one  of  the  wheel-houses,  poured  a  heavy  sea 
across  the  boat,  carried  off  one  of  the  scuttles,  and  sent  a 
grand  cascade  into  the  hold,  filling  it  ten  or  twelve  inches 
deep.  The  prospect  was  that  we  should  be  swamped  in  the 
middle  of  the  bay,  where  it  is  ten  miles  wide.  The  sailors 
thought  we  were  going  to  Davy  Jones's  locker,  and  began  to 
get  drunk.  But  we  fenced  out  the  water,  pumped  out  what 
we  had  taken,  and  in  half  an  hour  were  comparatively  snug, 
arriving  only  three  hours  behind  our  time,  all  safe.  Tuesday 
morning  I  set  off  by  boat  for  Napa  City,  which  is  a  little  west- 
ern town  at  the  landing,  or  head  of  tide-water,  in  the  valley  of 
that  name,  and  is  the  third  in  order  of  the  three  valleys  that 
open  on  the  San  Pablo  Bay,  beginning  at  the  west, — Petalu- 
raa,  Sonoma,  Napa.  I  made  a  rush  to  the  spot  just  in  time  to 
see  it  and  get  back  to  the  hotel  before  the  rain  of  the  night 
began  to  pour ;  found  a  very  nice  stream  of  water,  and  noth- 
ing else !  Lay  awake  with  rheumatic  pains,  which  for  some 
reason  took  me  that  night,  and  heard  the  roaring,  driving 
storm  all  the  ni^-ht  lone;.  Thouo-ht  I  had  not  exhausted  the 
place, — that  I  might  possibly  take  the  water  to  another  place 
and  get  a  good  lookout.  Gave  the  morning  to  another  trial. 
Forded  the  stream,  where  the  water  came  almost  to  my  sad- 


NAPA   CITY.  403 

die-top,  clipping  in  my  knees  with  my  legs  drawn  np.  The 
new  spot  no  improvement.  Took  the  afternoon  stage  to 
Benicia,  thence  to  go  down  in  the  night  boat  from  Sacra- 
mento. Before  leaving  the  hotel,  I  pointed  several  persons 
to  a  fine,  lofty  terrace  in  the  hills  on  the  other  side  of  the 
valley,  the  western,  inqniring  whether  no  water  came  out  of 
the  deep  gorge  close  by  it.  Some  said,  "  None  ;"  some,  "A 
little."  All  agreed  that  there  was  no  good  stream  at  all.  I 
had  made  the  same  inquiry  two  months  before,  with  the 
same  result. 

I  found  on  board  the  stage  a  gentlemanly  passenger  who 
lives  right  in  the  spot  itself,  who  said  there  was  water  there. 
Running  water  i  Yes.  How  much  ?  That  he  could  not 
find  any  terms  to  show.  By-and-by,  when  about  half-way 
down  to  Benicia,  it  came  ont  that  there  is  a  saw-mill  on  the 
stream !  I  reached  San  Francisco  that  night,  and  took  the 
steamer  again,  the  next  morning,  for  jSTapa.  Went  to  the 
ground  as  fast  as  I  could  ride  in  the  awful  mud  of  three 
miles,  and  got  back  just  at  dark.  Attended  a  great  ball  that 
night, — i.  <?.,  the  noise  of  it,- — went  back  to  San  Francisco, 
wrote  my  report  describing  the  place  at  full  length,  and  was 
ready  for  the  adjourned  meeting  of  the  Trustees  last  even- 
ing, when  the  new  site  was  unanimously  voted ;  and  if  the 
conditions  are  met,  as  I  think  they  will  be,  it  will  be  absolute- 
ly taken.  I  have  great  comfort  in  it.  The  climate  is  perfect, 
the  scenery  is  beautiful, — a  line,  rich  valley,  about  eight  miles 
across  in  all  directions,  surrounded  by  mountains  on  all  sides, 
sprinkled  over  with  trees ;  the  site  imposing  beyond  all  oth- 
ers, the  background  magnificent,  tide-water  only  three  miles 
off. 

In  a  Statement  and  Appeal  for  the  College,  published  by 
the  Trustees,  Dr.  Bushnell  gave  this  resume  of  the  work  which 
he  had  attempted  and  accomplished  : — 

''Regarding  this  out- door  emijloyment  as  precisely  adapted  to  my 
wauts,  and  as  being  actually  better  than  none  at  all,  I  entered  immedi- 
ately upon  it,  and  without  charge  to  the  Institution,  which  I  am  most 
happy  to  have  served  in  this  manner.     I  have  occupied  my  whole  time 


404  LIFE   OF   HORACE   BUSIINELL. 

down  to  the  last  of  December  iu  examining  views  and  prospects ;  explor- 
ing water-courses,  determining  their  levels,  and  gauging  their  quantities 
of  water;  discovering  quarries,  finding  supplies  of  sand  and  gravel,  test- 
ing climates;  inquiring,  and  even  jirospecting,  to  form  some  judgment  of 
the  probabilities  of  railroads ;  obtaining  terms,  looking  after  titles,  and 
neglecting  nothing  necessary  to  prepare  the  question  for  a  proper  settle- 
ment. I  have  reported  on  a  site  at  Martinez ;  also  on  another  in  the  Pe- 
taluma  Valley ;  on  another  iu  tlie  Sonoma  Valley ;  another  iu  the  valley 
owned  by  Senor  Sunole,  back  of  the  Contra  Costa  chain,  and  five  miles 
distant  from  the  Mission  San  Jose ;  another  at  the  Mission  San  Jose  it- 
self; another  at  San  Pablo  ;  still  another  at  Clinton,  or  Brooklyn,  opposite 
tlie  city ;  and  still  another  in  the  Nai)a  Valley.  The  site  at  Clinton,  or 
Brooklyn,*  was,  on  the  whole,  preferred  to  any  other,  as  uniting  the  best 
advantages ;  but  the  endeavor  to  procure  it  was  obstructed  by  a  demand 
so  exorbitant  for  the  small  stream  of  water  which  was  indispensable  to 
the  feasibility  of  the  site  that  we  were  obliged  to  surrender  the  place. 
In  the  mean  time,  while  these  negotiations  were  pending,  the  site  iu  the 
Napa  Valley,  which  had  not  before  been  discovered,  w-as  brought  for- 
W'ard,  and  conditionally  adopted." 

In  the  delay  of  several  years  before  the  College  was  finally 
located,  the  difficulties  in  the  way  of  obtaining  water  at  Clin- 
ton were  obviated,  and  the  choice  of  the  Trustees  gravitated 
again  toward  the  site  which  had  been  most  preferred  by  Dr. 
Biishnell.  There,  in  April,  1860,  a  formal  meeting  was  held, 
and  the  location  and  name  of  Berkeley  were  decided  upon. 

He  had  attempted  to  help  the  College  of  California  by 
finding  its  proper  location,  and  by  publicly  presenting  to 
leading  men  in  California  and  at  the  East  its  claims  upon 
their  consideration.  At  the  request  of  the  Trustees,  he  left 
open  the  question  of  the  presidency  while  it  was  not  neces- 
sary practically  to  fill  the  ofiiee,  and  did  not  formally  decline 
it  until  1861.  In  the  uncertainty  of  his  future  he  was  glad 
to  delay  his  decision,  and  meantime  endeavored  to  be  of  use 
to  the  Institution. 

The  Rev.  S.  H.  Willey,  who  accompanied  Dr.  B.  in  many 
of  his  prospecting  expeditions,  says  that  "  the  Sunole  Valle}', 
near  Pleasanton,  was  the  Doctor's  Paradise, — water,  landscape, 
retirement,  and  all.     But  there  no  railroad  was  then  project- 

*  The  site  finally  adopted. 


SURVEYS  roil  A  PACIFIC  RAILROAD.  405 

ed,  and  that  site  was  too  far  ofE  witliont  a  railroad.  But  Dr. 
Bushnell  used  stoutly  to  maintain  that  any  overland  road 
must  get  through  the  coast  range  along  that  Alameda  Creek, 
and  so  now  it  does.  Furthermore,  he  said  it  must  reach  San 
Francisco  by  a  piling  across  the  bay !" 

On  this  point  his  friend  Mr.  Twichell  has  said  : — "  It  was 
when  he  was  in  California  that  he  manifested,  in  as  marked  a 
manner  as  ever  he  did,  the  original  habit  of  his  mind.  He 
had  scope  for  it  there,  for  the  State  was  new,  and  everj-thing 
M'as  forming.  Stranger  as  he  was,  and  an  invalid,  he  inter- 
ested himself  immediately  in  all  great  public  enterprises  that 
were  on  foot,  and  very  soon  had  his  own  views  M^ith  regard 
to  them.  The  Pacific  Railroad  was  then  only  a  project. 
There  was  a  difference  of  opinion  among  engineers  as  to  the 
route  of  the  California  end  of  it  when  it  should  be  built. 
And  so  the  Doctor,  as  he  journeyed  up  and  down,  had  an  eye 
to  that  matter,  and,  before  he  left,  had  surveyed  out  in  his 
own  mind  a  route  that  he  believed  was  the  right  one.  And 
when  at  Last  the  road  icas  built,  it  pleased  him  exceedingly 
that  his  route  was  the  one  adopted." 


406  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

1857-1858. 

EETURN  FROM  CALIFORNIA.  —  SERMON  OF  REUNION.  —  WEEK- 
DAY SERMON  TO  BUSINESS  MEN.— THANKSGIVING.— REVIVAL 
OF  1857,  '8.— OVERWORK.— LETTER  FROM  THE  NORTH  CHURCH 
AND  REPLY.  — CHOICE  OF  A  COLLEAGUE.  — PUBLICATION  OF 
"SERMONS  FOR  THE  NEW  LIFE."— PUBLICATION  OF  "NATURE 
AND  THE  SUPERNATURAL."— EXHAUSTION, 

De.  Busiinell  left  California,  apparently  in  perfect  health, 
but  reached  his  home  in  January,  1857,  after  the  long  voyage, 
with  a  severe  cold,  the  natural  result  of  a  sudden  exposure  to 
our  winter  climate.  He  was  well  enough,  however,  to  express 
his  joy  at  the  reunion  with  his  people,  in  a  sermon  drawn  from 
one  of  tliose  peculiar  texts  in  which  he  found  so  much  fresh 
meaning.  That  "  Moab  hath  been  at  ease  from  his  youth, 
and  he  hath  settled  on  his  lees,  and  hath  not  been  emptied 
from  vessel  to  vessel,  neither  hath  he  gone  into  captivity : 
therefore  his  taste  remained  in  him,  and  his  scent  is  not 
changed,"  was  to  him  only  an  Oriental  form  of  expression 
for  the  truth,  "  That  we  require  to  be  unsettled  in  life  by 
many  changes  and  interruptions  of  adversity,  in  order  to  be 
most  effectually  loosened  from  our  own  evils,  and  prepared 
to  the  will  and  work  of  God.  "\Ye  need,  in  other  words,  to 
be  shaken  out  of  our  places  and  plans,  agitated,  emptied  from 
vessel  to  vessel,  else  the  flavors  of  our  grossness  and  impurity 
remain.  We  cannot  be  refined  on  our  lees,  or  in  any  course 
of  life  that  is  uniformly  prosperous  and  secure." 

The  following  paragraphs,  selected  from  this  sermon,  dis- 
close the  depth  of  his  feeling  in  his  long  separation  from  his 
people  and  his  work  : — 

"  What  good  man  ever  fell  into  a  time  of  deep  cliasteuing  who  did 
not  find  some  cunning  infatuation  by  which  he  was  holden,  broken  up, 


"SPIRITUAL   DISLODGEMENTS."  407 

and  some  new  discovery  made  of  liimself?  Tlie  veils  of  pride  are  rent, 
the  rock  of  self-opinion  is  shattered,  and  lie  is  reduced  to  a  point  of  gen- 
tleness and  tenderness  that  allows  him  to  suffer  a  true  conviction  con- 
cerning what  was  hidden  from  his  sight.  Nor  is  anything  so  effectual 
in  this  way  as  to  meet  some  great  overthrow  that  interrupts  the  whole 
course  of  life  ;  all  the  better  if  it  dislodges  him  even  in  his  Christian 
works  and  appointments.  What  was  I  doing,  he  now  asks,  that  I  must 
needs  be  thrown  out  of  my  holiest  engagements?  for  what  fault  was  I 
brought  under  this  discipline  ?  He  has  every  motive  now  to  be  ingenu- 
ous, for  the  hand  of  God  is  upon  him,  and  what  God  declares  to  him  he 
is  ready  to  hear.  And  ah !  how  many  things  that  were  hidden  from 
him  start  up  now  into  view !  How  could  he  be  allowed  to  go  on  pros- 
perously, when  there  was  so  much  in  him  and  his  engagements  that  re- 
quired rectification,  and  ought,  if  it  be  not  removed,  to  forever  exclude 
him  from  these  engagements  ?  Perhaj^s  he  will  be  thrown  out  of  them 
entirely  and  turned  to  sometliing  else,  that  he  may  there  discover,  in  a 
second  overthrow,  other  evils  that  are  still  hidden  from  his  knowledge. 

"  But  there  is  a  use  of  this  subject  that  has  many  times  occurred  to  you 
already,  and  to  this,  in  conclusion,  let  lis  now  come.  By  the  visitation  of 
God  upon  us, — upon  you,  that  is,  and  upon  me, — the  tenure  and  security 
of  our  relation  as  pastor  and  people  has  been  iuterrujited  now  for  two 
whole  years.  Whether  it  was  God's  design,  by  this  interruption,  to  re- 
fine us  and  purify  us  to  a  better  use  of  this  relation,  or  to  bring  it  to  a 
full  end,  remains  now  to  be  seen.  The  former  is  my  earnest  hope  and 
my  constant  prayer.  Was  there  nothing  in  us,  on  one  side  or  on  both, 
that  required  this  discipline,  and  made  it  even  necessary  for  us  ?  Is 
there  no  reason  to  suspect  that,  in  our  state  of  confidence  and  security, 
we  were  .])eginning  to  look  for  the  blessing  of  Moab,  and  not  for  the 
blessing  of  Israel  ?  For  myself,  I  feel  constrained  to  admit  that  I  had 
come  to  regard  my  continuance  here  too  much  as  a  matter  of  course,  an 
appointment  subject  to  no  repeal  or  change.  I  had  learned  to  trust  you 
implicitly  as  my  friends,  and  knew  that  you  could  never  be  less.  I  had 
let  my  roots  run  out  and  downward  among  you,  in  a  growth  of  nearly  a 
quarter  of  a  century.  Invitations  to  other  places  I  had  even  forbidden 
or  cut  off  beforehand.  Under  the  semblance  of  duty  and  constancy,  I 
had  undertaken  to  die  here  and  nowliere  else,  knowing  no  other  people, 
place,  or  work.  And  under  this  fair  cover  crept  a  little  foolish  pride,  it 
may  be,  that  really  needed  chastisement.  As  if  it  were  for  me  to  say 
where  I  would  stay  or  die  !  Just  here,  unwittingly,  my  imagined  con- 
stancy became  presumption.  Furthermore,  I  had  always  been  too  much 
like  Moab,  as  I  now  see,  and  bitterly  needed  some  kind  of  captivity  more 
real,  some  change  more  crippling,  than  the  mock  adversities  I  had  here- 
tofore tossed  aside  so  lightly. 

"And  so,  both  for  my  sake  and  for  yours,  he  has  brought  this  heavy 
trial  or  adversitv  upon  us.     By  this  he  takes  us  off  our  lees,  and  his  de- 

27 


•iUS  LIFE   OF   HORACE   BUSHNELL. 

sign  has  been  to  ventilate  us  by  the  separation  we  have  suffered.  He 
means  to  purify  us,  to  take  away  all  our  self-confidence,  and  our  trust  in 
each  other,  and  bring  us  into  an  implicit,  humble  trust  in  himself.  And 
the  work  he  has  begun,  I  firmly  believe  that  he  will  prosecute  till  his 
object  is  gained.  If  two  years  of  separation  will  not  bring  us  to  our 
l^laces  and  correct  our  sin,  he  will  go  farther.  He  will  finally  command 
us  apart,  and  tear  us  loose  from  all  our  common  ties  and  expectations. 
For  myself,  I  am  anxious  to  learn  the  lesson  he  is  teaching,  and  I  pray 
God  that  a  similar  purpose  may  enter  into  you." 

On  Febrnaiy  17, 1S57,  he  wrote  to  Dr.  Bartol :  "  My  book 
is  now  ready  for  tlie  press,  and  I  mean  to  be  out  with  it  be- 
fore long.  I  do  not  hear  that  you  are  blossoming  again, — a 
very  good  figure  for  you,  but  a  very  bad  one  for  me,  who 
bear  my  fruit,  like  the  fig,  on  the  naked  limb,  without  any 
flower  at  all." 

Under  the  same  date,  to  Mr.  Chesebrough,  he  said,  "I 
have  a  good  deal  of  fear  that  the  attempt  [to  start  a  college 
in  California]  will  fall  through.  It  is  a  hard  time  there. 
Should  they  get  on,  I  may  or  may  not  go  there.  Everything 
depends  on  my  ability  to  stay,  or  not  to  stay,  here.  I  shall 
never  leave  my  people  till  I  am  compelled." 

Again,  early  in  March,  he  wrote  to  Dr.  Bartol:  "As  soon 
as  I  can  make  it  right,  I  shall  be  in  Boston.  I  am  now  fresh 
married  to  my  people,  and  cannot  leave  them  till  I  get  a  lit- 
tle old.  Two  years,  remember,  they  have  been  without  me, 
and  they  are  as  eager  to  keep  me  as  I  to  be  kept." 

The  people  of  the  North  Church  were  now  planning  for 

another  building,  and  he  went  into  the  architectural  study 

as  ardently  as  he  had  done  into  the  business  of  prospecting 

in  California. 

Hartford,  April  13, 1857. 

My  dear  Daughter,  —  ...  I  had  a  very  pleasant  visit, 
taken  as  a  working  one,  in  New  York.  It  is  a  good  deal  of 
a  matter,  we  find,  to  settle  on  just  the  church  we  want,  where 
as  yet  there  is  an  infinite  liberty  as  to  forms.  It  is  like  choos- 
ing a  face  out  of  all  possible  shapes  and  colors;  one  will  be  a 
little  critical  about  it,  especially  if  he  lias  got  to  w^ear  it  for- 
ever after. 

Your  aunt  is  expecting  to  see  you  this  week,  as  I  presume 


LETTERS  AND  PREACHING.  409 

you  are  expecting  to  see  her.  I  have  no  doubt  you  will  do 
what  you  can  to  make  your  visit  a  pleasant  one  to  her.  Now 
that  your  education  is  complete,  you  will  shine,  of  course ! 

But  this  is  nonsense ;  think  nothing  whatever  of  shining. 
The  sun  does  not  shine  because  he  has  a  will  for  it ;  no  more 
does  a  man  or  woman.  Even  the  moon,  which  shines  with 
only  a  borrowed  light,  has  no  thought  about  it,  but  only 
lets  her  unoriginal  beams  play  off  their  glistening  into  what 
quarter  they  will.  And  so  it  is  universally,  both  in  the  origi- 
nal and  the  unoriginal,  the  first  and  second  i*ate  characters. 
Their  real  merit  is  the  unconscious  show  of  what  they  are ; 
and  there  is  nothing  so  refreshing  in  this  world  of  affectations 
as  the  natural,  unstudied  revelation,  whether  of  goodness,  or 
beauty,  or  genius.  .  .  . 

Your  loving  father,  H.  Bushnell. 

In  the  early  summer  he  went  with  his  friend,  Mr.  Sampson, 
and  a  party  of  friends,  including  his  daughter,  on  the  delight- 
ful round  trip  to  ISTiagara  and  Canada,  and  through  the  White 
Mountains. 

He  was  at  the  Yale  Commencement  in  New  Haven,  and  af- 
ter his  return  wrote  to  his  wife : — 

Hfirtfoixl,  August  5, 1857. 

...  I  preached  a  Niagara  sermon  last  Sunday,  i.  e.,  a  ser- 
mon suggested  by  the  Kapids.  It  seems  to  have  excited  some 
interest.  It  looked  on  the  affairs  of  life,  and  took  their  sense 
as  the  preparations  of  eternity,  —  the  only  real  sense  they 
have;  they  roar  with  a  sound  of  eternity. 

What  I  shall  do  for  the  next  Sunday  I  do  not  know.  I  am 
at  work  thus  far  on  old  matter  for  a  volume.  What  a  bless- 
ing it  is  to  be  well  again  !  It  comes  over  me  occasionally  like 
the  sound  of  a  hymn,  and  I  stop  to  listen.  I  wish  you  could 
tell  our  dear  friend,  Mr.  Sampson,  what  I  think  of  him  at  such 
times.  May^  God  bless  him !  Give  my  love  to  all  seriatim, 
according  to  the  Jewish  style,  beginning  at  the  oldest,  etc. 

Preaching  almost  every  Sunday  fresh  and  stimulating  ser- 
mons, he  seemed  to  feel  that  he  was  doing  little, — in  no  dan- 


410  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

ger,  he  said,  of  overwork.  lie  complained  that  while  he 
"dreaded  a  long  pnll,"  he  seemed  "to  lack  short  designs;'' 
and  yet  one  might  have  thought  that  he  had  both  in  abun- 
dance, in  the  preparation  for  publication  of  two  volumes,  and 
the  frequent  writing  and  delivery  of  new  sermons.  He  was 
now  getting  ready  for  the  press  the  first  collected  volume  of 
his  sermons,  those  "  For  the  ISTew  Life,"  allowing  his  work  on 
the  Supernatural  to  stand  and  become  thoroughly  settled  un- 
der revision,  before  it  should  be  given  to  the  world. 

Early  in  the  autumn,  the  terrible  financial  crash  of  1S57 
"  burst  upon  the  world  of  trade  and  overwhelmed  it,  as  earth- 
quakes do  cities  and  provinces."  Alarm  darkened  to  despair, 
a  dense  cloud  settled  down  upon  the  business  community,  and 
there  seemed  to  be  no  light  ahead.  At  a  time  when  courage 
and  hope  were  the  most  needed  cordials  of  fainting  hearts, 
and  even  the  first  requisites  to  an  improved  condition  in  af- 
fairs. Dr.  Bushnell  spoke  brave  words  of  cheer  in  "A  AVeek- 
day  Sermon  to  the  Business  Men  of  Hartford,"  which  was 
printed  in  the  Courant^  and  found  many  grateful  readers. 
The  simple  text, — "And  when  the  ship  was  caught  and  could 
not  bear  up  into  the  wind,  we  let  her  drive," — was  a  sugges- 
tion of  good  seamanship  in  all  storms  whatever;  while  "the 
wisdom  which  consists  in  a  dexterous  and  timely  submission 
to  the  evils  we  cannot  help,"  was  brought  home  by  the  ser- 
mon in  a  thoroughly  practical  way.  "  See  to  it,"  he  said, 
"  that,  in  finally  yielding  to  the  storm,  if  yield  you  must,  you 
let  go  in  no  manner  of  despair  or  panic.  Yield  because  you 
must,  and  deliberately,  as  a  matter  of  counsel,  and  then  sail 
down  the  storm  in  counsel,  just  as  before  you  endeavored  to 
sail  up.  Choose  your  time  and  manner  skilfully,  and  when 
you  go  about,  stand  by  the  helm,  No  vessel  can  live  for  any 
length  of  time  that  is  wholly  given  uj)  or  abandoned  to  the 
storm.  It  must  be  steered  away  before  it,  and  kept  to  its 
course  as  carefully  and  skilfully  as  if  it  were  still  making  its 
point  of  destination.  Now,  in  fact,  is  the  time  for  a  talented 
and  brave  seamanship.  Just  so  to  steer  a  suspended  and  pro- 
tested business  as  to  bring  it  out  safe,  or  to  make  it  yield 
most  for  the  creditors  when  it  can  no  longer  yield  anything 


THANKSGIVING.  411 

for  itself,  requires  great  skill,  firmness,  pertinacitj',  and  a  tru- 
ly heroic  fidelity.  All  the  faculty  you  have  is  wanted  now, 
and  that  in  its  best  and  bravest  order ;  for  now  your  seaman- 
ship is  to  be  tested.  Set  yourself  to  it,  therefore,  if  you  must 
fall  away  before  the  storm,  to  keep  your  shattered  craft  in 
the  best  trim  possible." 

On  Thanksgiving-day,  too,  when  he  felt  the  mood  of  the 
time  to  be  very  wide  of  festivity  or  praise,  he  found  abun- 
dant subject  for  thanksgiving,  and  even  for  a  very  hallelujah 
of  rejoicing  over  the  check  given  to  slavery  by  the  vote  of 
Kansas  to  be  a  free  State.  "  Human  slavery  is  now  doomed 
in  the  United  States,  —  doomed,  not  by  any  philanthropic 
scheme  of  abolition,  but  doomed  to  feel  a  pressure  on  its 
border;  to  be  crowded  farther  on  and  away  by  the  press  of 
freedom  and  its  emigrations ;  so  to  give  way,  lose  confidence, 
crumble  in  fatal  demoralization,  and  finally  to  cease  and  be 
a  fact  forgot.  And  this  year  (Anno  Domini  1857)  is  the 
year  that  marks  the  change.  Come  out,  then,  oh  ye  droop- 
ing ones,  from  your  meanings  over  the  money ;  come  and 
see  what  God  hath  wrought !  Make  the  day  thanksgiving. 
Crown  it  with  a  hymn  !" 

He  had  been  to  Cambridge  to  exchan-ge  with  Professor 
Huntington ;  and  after  the  little  festival  of  Thanksgiving  at 
home,  which  had  been  dimmed  in  its  brightness  by  the  ab- 
sence of  one  child  and  the  sickness  of  another,  he  wrote  to 
the  daughter  in  New  Haven  : — 

Hartford,  November  37, 1857. 

.  .  .  We  had  a  nice  little  time  at  our  dinner,  but  it  wanted 

you  much.     D put  it  thus:  "How  much  I  miss , 

she  is  so  lively!" — in  which,  possibly,  she  meant  something 
more  than  a  compliment,  viz.,  to  reflect  to  disadvantage  on 
the  dull,  humdrummy  old  gentleman  she  calls  her  father. 
Poor  child,  I  am  very  much  of  her  opinion,  as  far  as  that  is 
concerned. 

1  had  a  very  delightful  visit  to  Boston,  abating  the  cloud 
I  was  under,  and  the  half-capacity  I  was  in.  There  is  some- 
thing in  Boston  that  I  find  nowhere  else, — a  finish,  an  intel- 
lectuality, a  culture  of  all  kinds,  society,  good-manners ;  the 


4:12  LIFE   OF  HORACE   BUSHNELL. 

very  common  people  behave  better,  Avitli  less  lontishness,  as 
if  tliey  felt  the  sense  of  something,  which  in  fact  they  do  not 
know.  This  matter  of  an  atmosphere, — what  a  power  there 
is  in  it,  what  profound  reality !  You  can  feel  it,  when  you 
go  into  a  house,  as  perceptibly  as  the  furnace-heat  blowing 
up  into  the  apartments.  You  can  feel  it  in  the  church,  in 
the  social  gathering ;  nay,  you  can  feel  it  in  the  open  precinct 
of  a  person,  for  every  person  carries  about  an  atmosphere 
with  him. 

I  want  you  to  get  hold  clearly  of  the  religious  connections 
of  geology  as  you  listen  to  these  lectures.  Here  is  the  gran- 
deur of  geology,  that  it  looks  on  the  hand  of  the  Creator,  and 
sees  the  stages  by  which  he  goes  on.  I  want  very  much  a 
conversation  with  Professor  Dana  myself.  Give  him  my  best 
respects. 

There  are  several  streams  of  love — four  of  tliem — flowing 
criss-cross  at  the  other  end  to  as  many  more.  Conduct  them 
to  their  mark. 

Your  father,  with  great  love,  H.  B. 

The  financial  crisis  was,  as  every  one  will  remember,  fol- 
lowed by  that  great  and  unexampled  religions  revival  which 
overspread  the  country,  and  moved  society  to  its  very  foun- 
dations. The  excitement  of  it  lasted  through  the  whole  win- 
ter and  late  into  the  spring.  Ministers,  and  all  those  who 
took  an  active  part  in  the  direction  of  the  great  and  frequent 
meetings  of  the  people,  were  called  to  make  unwonted  exer- 
tions, and  were  themselves  kept  at  a  sustained  pitch  or  strain 
of  feeling  that  was  more  exhausting  than  the  work.  Dr. 
Bushnell  did  not  spare  himself  in  the  services  held  at  his 
own  church,  or  in  the  daily  Union  Prayer-meetings  of  the 
city.  Under  the  pressure  of  work,  and  by  tlie  aid  of  sym- 
pathy prepared  for  him  in  his  audiences,  he  resorted,  for  the 
first  time,  to  extempore  preaching.  He  achieved  in  this  a 
success  unlooked  for,  as  he  had  always  doubted  his  ability  for 
off-hand  speech.  Some  of  these  sermons  were  very  remark- 
able and  impressive,  and  commanded  the  fixed  attention  of 
several  intellectual  and  not  hitherto  religious  men.     One  dav 


WORK   IN   CHURCH   AND   STUDY.  413 

his  good  friend,  Deacon  Collins,  who  had  listened  to  his 
preaching  ever  since  he  came  to  Hartford,  said,  as  he  walked 
down  the  aisle,  "  Dr.  Bushnell  must  never  preach  any  more 
written  sermons.  He  may  write  to  print,  but  not  to  preach." 
Besides  this  public  work,  he  did  much  in  his  study.  An 
article  on  California  came  out  in  the  February  number  of 
the  New  Englander.  The  proofs  of  his  volume  of  sermons 
were  passing  through  his  hands.  Tlie  bulletin  sent  by  his 
daughter  to  a  family  friend  was  this :— "  Father  is  not  very 
well  now,  as  he  is  obliged  to  work  harder  than  is  good  for 
him.  He  writes  a  new  sermon  for  every  Sunday  [this  was 
before  he  had  begun  to  resort  to  extempore  preaching], 
preaches  Wednesday  evening,  talks  Thursday  and  Friday 
evenings,  besides  meeting  people  for  conversation  on  Mon- 
day, revising  or  sometimes  rewriting  one  sermon  a  week  for 
the  press,  and  looking  over  the  proofs  of  two  or  three  more." 
No  wonder  that,  before  May  came,  he  was  obliged  to  confess 
himself  utterly  broken  down.  Looking  back,  he  realized  that 
in  these  services,  and  especially  in  the  prayer -meetings,  he 
"  had  been  strung  up  to  the  highest  point  of  tension."  On 
the  first  Sunday  of  May  there  was  a  great  throng  of  new- 
comers to  the  table  of  communion,  and  he  insisted  on  con- 
ducting the  service  and  preaching  himself.  The  "  Sermons 
for  the  New  Life"  were  now  out.  After  this  it  was  im- 
perative that  he  should  have  rest.  His  people  meantime 
were  unwilling  that  he  should  do  so  much,  and  were  urg- 
ing him  to  consent  to  their  calling  a  colleague.  And  so,  af- 
ter a  little  rest  in  New  York,  he  went  off  himself  on  a  stolen 
errand  to  Fall  River,  where  he  heard  and  accepted  the  man 
of  his  choice,  unknown  to  anybody,  and,  above  all,  unknown 
to  the  object  of  it. 

To  his  Wife. 

New  York,  May  11,1858. 

...  I  am  living  here  in  the  utmost  quiet,  and  enjoying  my 
ease  as  much  as  it  is  possible  M'ith  this  wretched  cough  upon 
me.  Yesterday  I  had  the  two  poles  —  hearing  Beecher  in 
the  morning,  and  Professor  Shedd  in  the  evening.  Beecher 
preached  the  most  dramatic  and,  in  one  sense,  most  effective 


•jrl-i  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

sermon  I  ever  heard  from  him,  but  in  all  tlu>  philosophy  of 
it  unspeakably  crude  and  naturalistic ;  and  yet  I  was  greatly 
moved  notwithstanding,  and,  I  trust,  profited.  The  close  was 
eloquent  enough  to  be  a  sermon  by  itself.  Professor  Shedd 
gave  the  Address  before  the  Society  of  Inquiry  for  the  Theo- 
logical Seminary,  in  Dr.  Adams's  church, — scholastic,  badly- 
planned,  and,  with  much  fine  thought  and  expression,  a  virt- 
ual failure.  I  was  the  more  disajjpointed  because  it  is  not 
his  way  to  make  a  failure. 

This  morning  I  took  breakfast  at  Professor  II.  B.  Smith's, 
where  I  met  Shedd  and  Bancroft  and  others,  who  are  more 
or  less  among  the  celebrities.  They  talked  about  Goethe, 
Kant,  Jacobi,  Schelling,  Hegel,  and  other  Germans,  and  we 
had  a  good  time  of  it — after  we  got  through  with  the  Ger- 
mans. 

I  hear  much  good  for  my  book.  Even  the  Puritan  Re- 
corder is  out  for  me  ! 

But  this  is  moonshine  all;  why  do  I  name  it?  My  heart 
is  not  in  it,  but  with  you  and  my  dear  brethren  of  the  church. 
With  you,  as  drawn  to  you  by  a  most  assured  and  truly  rest- 
ing love,  that  we  may  be  kept  on  earth  just  long  enough  to 
do  up  our  work,  and  have  it  complete.  AVith  them,  that  the}^ 
may  not  faint  in  their  faith,  but  hold  on  till  their  faith  is 
crowned.  They  have  how  many,  waiting  and  already  half 
prepared  to  the  harvest !  These  that  are  so  nigh,  shall  they 
not  enter?  Oh,  they  must!  My  heart  aches  to  see  them  in 
the  Lord,  and  greet  them  as  his. 

To  Dr.  Bartol. 

Hartford,  May  19, 1858. 

My  dear  Fkiend  and  Brother, — I  thank  you  for  your 
kind  invitation,  and  will  avail  myself  of  it  for  a  day  or  two. 
I  shall  probably  come  to  Boston  from  Fall  Hiver  some  time 
on  Monday. 

As  to  the  devil  getting  yon,  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it, 
and  scarcely  more  that  I  am  getting  more  orthodox,  which 
may  be  very  nearly  the  same  thing  concerning  me.  I  be- 
lieve nothing  in  orthodoxy,  but  all  in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ. 


LETTER  FROM   THE   NORTH   CHURCH.  415 

Did  yon  see  the  commendation  of  my  sermons  in  the  Puri- 
tan the  other  day,  finishing  off  with  the  suggestion  that  proh- 
ably  a  good  drubbing  had  done  me  good, — in  other  words, 
whipped  me  in  ?  It  quoted  from  two  sermons  to  show  this, 
one  of  which  was  written  twelve  years  ago,  and  the  other 
twenty-three !  However,  I  do  dare  to  think  that  I  am  grow- 
ing more  adequately  and  more  Christianly  true.  And,  in 
just  that  way,  I  am  brewing  now  a  new  heresy,  which,  if  God 
spares  my  life,  I  shall  certainly  give  to  the  world,  even  if  I 
must  die  in  the  smoke  of  it.  Of  all  this  when  Ave  meet,  and 
more.  I  am,  as  ever,  yours,  H.  Bushnell. 

In  a  July  paper  we  find  the  following  publislied  statement 
and  correspondence : — 

"The  North  Congregational  Church  have  unanimously  voted  to  call 
the  Eev.  J.  Lewis  Diman,  of  Fall  Kiver,  Mass.,  to  be  an  associate  pastor, 
or  colleague,  of  Dr.  Bushnell,  whose  health  has  become  so  infirm  as  to 
prevent  his  further  preaching  for  the  present. 

"A  committee  has  been  appointed  to  notify  Mr.  Diman  of  the  action 
of  the  church  and  society.  Whether  he  Avill  accept  the  call  will  soon  be 
seen. 

"In  connection  with  this  subject,  we  append  the  following  corre- 
spondence between  the  members  of  that  church  and  their  pastor: — 

"Hartford,May  17, 1858. 
"  Rev.  Horace  Bushnell  : 

"Beloved  Pastor, — Desiring  in  some  way  to  embody  and 
express  the  feelings  and  wishes  of  this  church  and  society 
respecting  yourself  and  ourselves  in  the  peculiar  and  trying 
situation  in  which  we  are  placed,  as  pastor  and  people,  by 
reason  of  your  present  feeble  health,  we  are  moved  to  write 
you  this  letter.  We  desire  to  encourage  and  comfort  you, 
to  remove  from  your  mind  all  care  and  anxiety,  and  co- 
operate with  you  in  such  measures  as  may  be  thought  best 
for  the  restoration  of  your  health.  To  this  end  we  would  as- 
sure you  of  our  united  affection  and  sympathy,  of  our  ardent 
attachment  to  this  church  and  society,  and  our  sincere  and 
unanimous  wish  tliat  the  pastoral  relation  so  long  and  profit- 
ably sustained  may  be,  under  any  circumstances,  continued.  . . . 


416  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

And  while  we  earnestly  pray  God  to  give  you  health,  and 
restore  you  again  to  those  daily  ministrations  so  pleasing  to 
you  and  profitable  to  us,  we  would  also  thank  him  for  what 
he  has  already  enabled  you  to  accomplish  in  the  temporal 
and  spiritual  benefits  conferred  by  your  ministry  upon  us 
and  our  families.  We  feel  ourselves  under  a  lasting  debt  of 
gratitude  to  God  and  obligation  to  yourself;  and  whether 
you  are  able  to  preach  or  compelled  to  be  silent,  to  lead  in 
our  public  worship  or  to  be  absent  from  our  meetings,  we  still 
desire  to  call  you  our  pastor,  and  to  feel  that  this  relation, 
which  has  existed  for  a  quarter  of  a  century,  will  cease  only 
at  your  death. 

"  Signed  by  all  the  members  of  the  church  and  society. 

"  Hartford,  June  15,1858. 
"NoEMAN  Smith,  A.  M.  Collins,  and  Others  : 

"Deak  Beetheen  and  Feiends  of  the  Noeth  Chuech  and 
Society, — I  have  been  hoping  to  make  some  public  answer 
to  the  note  bearing  your  unanimous  signatures,  of  the  17th 
of  May,  but  my  opportunity  is  delayed,  and  may  be  for  some 
time  to  come.  I  cannot  tell  you  what  emotions  I  feel  in 
reading  this  roll  of  names,  affixed,  in  unanimous  consent,  to 
such  terms  of  affection,  and  the  tender  of  such  pledges  as 
your  letter  contains.  Could  1  know  that  my  God  w^ill  ac- 
cept my  ministry  as  you  do,  and  give  me  a  seal  of  his  divine 
approval  as  clear  and  free,  I  would  ask  no  more.  And  it  is 
just  because  I  am  less  confident  of  this  that  I  am  moved  so 
tenderly  by  so  great  a  partiality  in  you.  It  seems  to  be  a 
very  simple  and  obvious  matter  of  justice  that  a  disabled 
minister,  who  has  worn  out  all  his  best  powers  in  serving  his 
people  without  enriching  himself,  should  not  be  deserted  by 
them.  But  the  difficulty  is  that  we  are  commonly  conscious 
of  so  many  neglects,  defects,  false  motives,  and  only  formal 
fulfilments,  that  claims  of  justice  are  very  much  out  of  the 
question ;  and  we  are  apt  to  be  considering  rather  by  what 
conditions  of  helplessness  and  desertion  our  good  Father  may 
well  enough  be  preparing  to  chasten  us.  Thus  it  is  that  I 
accept  your  good-will ;  not  because  I  discover  in  it  your  sense 


REPLY   OF  THEIR   PASTOR.  417 

of  honor  and  justice  (which  I  knew  as  well  before),  but  as  a 
token  that  nij  God  is  willing  to  let  you  exercise  forbearance 
towards  me,  and  cover  my  defects  "with  the  generous  mantle 
of  your  Christian  affection.  What,  then,  can  I  do  more  fitly, 
or  how  express  more  truly  the  sensibility  your  kindness  stirs 
in  my  heart,  than  to  go  apart  into  the  secret  shadow  of  God's 
presence  and  ask  him  to  crown  these  outward  tokens  and 
pledges  of  yours,  by  adding  his  own  forgiveness.  Here,  too, 
as  my  more  direct  ministry  is  suspended — or  if  possibly  it  is 
not  to  be  resumed — let  me  wait  before  him,  asking  his  dear 
blessing  on  my  faithful  and  ever -dear  flock.  The  Lord 
bless  you  by  name,  yon  and  your  children ;  give  you  in 
yonr  hearts  the  nches  of  his  word ;  keep  you  in  holy  unity 
with  each  other;  deliver  you  more  and  more  completely 
from  this  present  evil  world ;  conform  you  more  and  more 
fully  to  the  great  image  of  his  Son ;  and  give  it  to  be  the 
crown  of  our  blessing  as  pastor  and  joeople,  that  we  are  gath- 
ered home  together  at  last,  to  the  greetings  and  common 
recollections  of  a  renewed  and  eternally  perfected  union  in 
Christ. 

''  In  strongest  bonds  of  love  and  confidence,  I  am  your 
pastor,  IIoEACE  Bushnell." 

Greatly  to  the  regret  of  Dr.  Bushnell  and  the  church,  the 
Ilev.  Mr.  Diman  declined  the  call ;  and  no  other  choice  was 
made,  in  part  because  Dr.  Bushnell  became  convinced  that 
the  colleague  relation  was  one  for  which  his  active  habit  dis- 
qualified him. 

The  "  Sermons  for  the  New  Life  "  were  very  cordially  re- 
ceived in  all  quarters,  and  that  volume  has  doubtless  been 
more  widely  read  than  any  other  of  his,  and  with  more  of 
simple  gratitude  for  its  religious  guidance  and  instruction. 
There  was  no  complaint  heard  of  its  theology.  The  follow- 
ing significant  letter  is  pleasant  to  read  : — 

Cambridge,  September  8, 1858. 
Dear  Brother  Bushnell, — As  I  once  regarded  myself 
called  on,  with  others,  to  write  in  opposition  to  sentiments 


418  LIFE   OF   HORACE   BUSHNELL. 

you  had  published,  a  sense  of  duty  equally  now  constrahis  me 
to  perform  a  more  grateful  task.  I  have  been  reading  your 
"  Sermons  for  the  New  Life."  I  need  scarcely  say  that  no 
opinions  I  have  yet  met  in  them  contravene  my  belief  of  the 
teachings  of  Scripture.  But  this  negative  statement  refers 
to  the  past.  I  thank  you  for  writing  and  publishing  these 
Discourses.  They  occujiy  a  ground  of  supreme  importance, 
which  I  have  no  recollection  of  traversing  under  the  guidance 
of  any  other  teacher.  ...  I  regret  not  having  earlier  known 
the  style  of  your  ministrations  at  home ;  for  I  unfortunate- 
ly knew  you  only  through  those  Discourses  which  presented 
views  contrary  to  my  conceptions  of  Gospel  doctrine.  May 
God  furnish  you  with  abundant  grace  still  to  proclaim  that 
ever-blessed  Gospel  which  you  so  forcibly  exhibit. 

Your  affectionate  fellow-servant,  Edward  JS^.  Kiek. 

To  Dr.  Bartol. 

Hartford,  October  25, 1858. 

My  deae  Beothee, — I  meant  to  have  thanked  you  sooner 
for  your  Address  at  Cambridge.  I  think  it  is  the  richest  and 
most  vigorous  thing  you  have  done.  It  has  the  merit,  also, 
of  being  profoundly  true  in  certain  leading  aspects.  But 
there  are  matters  in  it  which  I  want  to  quarrel  with  a  little, 
such  as  your  very  unjust  assumption  that  you  alone  propose 
to  liold  the  Unity.  Every  orthodox  man  proposes  the  same, 
only  some  take  up  views  of  their  Trinity  which  to  your  and 
my  conception  involve  a  real  tritheism. 

You  seem  to  assume  that  Trinity,  such  as  you  qualifiedly 
acknowledge,  is  a  human  invention,  to  be  finally  overreach- 
ed and  antiquated.  This  I  very  much  doubt.  Much  more 
likely  is  it  to  me  that  our  human  limitation,  as  finite,  requires 
it,  and  always  will, — that  the  infinite  Unity  becomes  relation- 
al, and  eternally  will,  through  it. 

I  must  also  protest  against  your  classing  "  trinity "  with 
"idolatries,"  "mythologies,"  and  the  like.  You  cannot  do  it 
with  a  just  respect  to  Scripture. 

But  the  grand  central  truth  of  the  Address  is  a  truth  beau- 
tifully, strikingly  set  forth;  so  great  a  thing  is  it,  requiring 


PUBLICATION  OF  "NATURE  AND  THE  SUPERNATURAL."    419 

SO  mucli  macliinery,  and  so  great  strain  of  thought,  to  recog- 
nize and  receive  the  Unity. 

I  will  send  you  my  new  book  in  a  few  days.     Love  to  all. 
Yours  truly,  H.  Busiinell. 

The  book  which  had  been  so  long  the  subject  of  his  most 
profound  and  patient  study,  that  for  the  sake  of  which  he  be- 
lieved his  life  had  been  spared,  the  greatest  work  which  had 
yet  been  given  him  to  do — "Nature  and  the  Supernatural" — 
was  now  at  last  ready.  He  felt  that  it  struck  a  new  key,  and 
w\as  the  best  contribution  he  could  make  to  the  thought  of 
the  world.  ISTaturally  he  was  most  anxious  to  know  how  it 
was  received,  and  what  thinking  men  would  make  of  it.  He 
was  like  one  who  drops  a  pebble  into  the  ocean,  and  waits  to 
see  the  circles  spread  from  that  point  outward.  Seeing  and 
hearing  nothing,  for  the  fall  was  into  deep  waters,  he  wrote 
once  to  Dr.  Bartol,  asking  what  w\as  said  in  Boston, — "  Bos- 
ton above  all," — and  again,  in  answer  to  him,  he  wrote  once 
more : — 

Hartford,  December  3, 1858. 

My  deae  Begthee, — I  really  hope  you  did  not  think  I 
was  weak  enough  to  be  wishing  for  some  Boston  commenda- 
tion the  other  day.  I  wrote  you  only  to  find  what  they  say, 
be  it  good  or  evil.  I  have  such  perfect  confidence  in  the  ar- 
gument of  my  book  that  I  can  bear  anything.  I  cannot  even 
conceive  the  onset  that  will  shake  me.  Still,  I  am  human 
(that  is,  a  fool),  and  wanted  to  know  what  the  word  may  be. 

This  morning  you  tell  me  that  you  are  going  to  review. 
Don't  do  it  for  my  sake ;  and  if  joxi  do  it,  do  not  spare  me 
because  I  am  your  friend.  Understand  that  I  have  Mdiole 
cargoes  of  conceit,  and  lay  on.  .  .  . 

What  I  say  of  charity  and  liberty  is  in  this  view.  Not  that 
every  man  who  calls  himself  a  liberal,  or  rejoices  in  the  epi- 
thet, is  therefore  off  the  balance.  He  is  only  on  the  way  to 
be,  and,  holding  on  under  that  flag,  he  certainly  will  be. 
There  is  a  certain  under-force  in  words,  which  many  make  no 
account  of,  and  which  yet  is  too  strong  to  be  permanently  re- 
sisted by  anybody.     Thus  there  is  a  loosing  element  in  the 


420  LIFE   OF   HORACE   BUSHNELL. 

tjjDG  of  the  word  liberal.  I  found  it  having  finally  an  effect 
on  me  which  I  did  not  like,  and  I  made  up  my  mind  that 
charity  was  good  enough  for  me ;  wondering  not  a  little  that 
Jesus,  so  abundant  and  free  in  the  charities  of  his  life,  had 
yet  the  more  than  human  wisdom  to  assume  no  airs  of  liber- 
alism. JSTo  man  or  denomination  of  men  can  make  a  flag  of 
that  word,  I  am  perfectly  certain,  without  being  injured  by 
it.     The  under-force  of  it  would  finally  move  mountains. 

I  want  you  to  think  nothing  of  me,  and  everything  of  truth. 
I  don't  ask  you  to  be  liberal  to  m.e ;  I  am  not  so  much  as  that 
to  myself.  God  give  you  the  truth,  and  then  the  heart  to 
say  what  belongs  to  truth. 

Yours  ever,  Horace  Bushnell. 

In  later  letters,  written  after  reviews  had  begun  to  come 
in,  we  find  such  bits  as  these: — "I  will  try  to  comfort  my- 
self in  the  hope  that  I  am  about  right  when  you,  on  one 
hand,  set  me  down  as  the  demolisher  of  nature,  and  the 
New  Englander  complains,  on  the  other,  that  I  defer  too 
much  to  nature,  and  am  too  much  under  her  power."  And 
again : — "  It  is  really  hard  times  with  a  poor  fellow.  The 
Neio  Englander  tries  me  all  through  by  the  New  Haven  the- 
ology, and  Dr.  James  makes  me  a  ninny  for  being  in  the 
New  Plaven  theology.  About  everything  said  on  one  side  is 
thrown  back  on  the  other,  and  I  am  pelted  all  round.     Give 

my  persecuted  love  to  the  dear  c[uiet  house  of  the  B 's." 

But  this  was  only  a  humorous  attempt  to  make  a  victim  of 
himself.  His  real  and  unchanging  feeling  was  expressed,  at 
a  little  later  time,  in  a  letter  to  Mr.  Goodwin  : — "  My  day  has 
not  yet  come,  and  will  not  till  after  I  am  gone.  So,  by  a  kind 
of  foolish  conceit,  it  may  be,  I  contrive  to  think.  I  should 
fare  better  if  I  would  get  up  a  school  or  sect,  or  I'aise  a  party 
of  ites^  have  a  publication,  etc.  But  the  work  I  am  called  to 
do  moves  slowly,  and  yet  it  moves." 

Perhaps  that  is  still  true.  It  may  be,  even  now,  too  early 
to  say  what  the  book  has  accomplished.  Nor  is  that  neces- 
sary. '  It  is  known  wherever  Horace  Bushnell  is  known,  and 
speaks  for  itself,  better  than  any  voice  can  speak  for  it.     But 


HIS  rOETIC    AND   PRACTICAL   FACULTIES.  421 

this  one  thing  we  may  permit  ourselves  to  say,  not  so  much 
of  the  book  as  of  its  author.  His  subject  being  the  reconcili- 
ation of  reason  and  faith,  of  science  and  revelation,  of  nature 
and  the  supernatural,  we  shall  perceive,  on  a  little  reflection, 
that  he  was  prepared  by  nature  for  a  free  range  in  both  these 
spheres  as  few  men  have  been.  The  imaginative  and  the 
practical  faculties  were  rarely  balanced  in  his  organization, 
and  the  whole  training  and  education  of  his  life,  from  earliest 
years,  had  been  such  as  to  bring  out  and  cultivate  both  sides. 
Nature  was  his  school-mistress,  and  he  early  tested  the  rigor 
of  her  laws  by  a  multitude  of  practical  exjjeriments.  But  a 
devout  and  loving  mother  enveloped  the  tender  soul  of  his 
infancy  in  a  spiritual  atmosphere,  till  the  fledgling  imagi- 
nation could  grow  its  wings  and  make  ready  for  flight.  In 
college  he  turned  first  with  avidity  to  the  study  of  natural 
science,  and  yet  he  only  fell  in  love  with  philosophy  when  he 
found  he  could  transmute  it  into  poetry.  The  same  was  true 
of  his  work  in  life.  A  glance  lifted  from  one  of  his  books 
and  resting  in  pleasant  survey  upon  Bushnell  Park,  would 
easily  take  in  its  twofold  meaning.  And  thus,  as  a  teacher 
of  religious  truth,  his  every  instinct  and  mental  habit  led 
him  to  make  reason  the  willing  servant  of  imagination.  His 
belief  was  firm  that  science  and  revelation  might  together 
scale  the  heights  of  all  mysteries,  exploring  and  discovering 
a  whole  upper  world  or  universe  of  nature  and  the  super- 
natural. 

Working  up  to  this  time  under  the  strong  impulse  of  a 
purpose,  to  him  all -important,  he  had  performed  an  im- 
mense amount  of  labor,  hardly  conscious  of  the  physical  ex- 
penditure he  was  making.  Now  the  ebb-tide  had  begun  to 
flow.  During  the  ensuing  winter  his  symptoms  were  worse 
than  they  had  ever  been,  and  he  was  unable  to  "preach.  The 
Eev.  C.  D.  Helmer  occupied  his  pulpit  for  several  months, 
and  took  upon  him  most  of  the  work  of  the  parish.  Dr. 
Bushnell  was  at  home,  as  quiet  as  it  was  in  his  nature  to  be, 
and  finding  his  chief  recreation  in  riding  and  driving  a  spir- 
ited little  black  horse  which  had  just  come  into  his  posses- 
sion.    Bobin  proved  the  best  of  friends,  both  intelligent  and 


422  LIFE   OF   HORACE   BUSHNELL. 

sympathetic,  and  as  full  of  pluck  as  liis  owner.  Rides  were 
taken  on  very  cold  days ;  and  sometimes  Kobin  tempted  his 
master  to  stay  out  in  the  wintry  weather  till  he  was  chilled 
through,  and  so  none  the  better  for  his  exercise.  Xo  imjior- 
tant  writing  was  on  hand,  but  a  gleam  of  something  yet 
before  him  to  be  done  fell  upon  him  through  the  clouds, 
and  cheered  him  on.  On  New-year's-day  he  wrote,  with  the 
greetings  of  1S59,  to  a  friend,  "  I  think  the  day  is  at  hand 
when  something  can  be  done  for  a  better  conception  of  the 
work  of  Cln-ist.  Here  is  the  great  field  left  that  I  wait  for 
grace  and  health  to  occupy." 


PARTING  WORDS.  423 


CHAPTER  XX. 

1859-1860. 
LEAVING  HARTFORD.— MINNESOTA. 

As  the  spring  came  on,  and  no  gain  was  made  in  health, 
it  became  apparent  to  Dr.  Bushnell  that  the  time  had  come 
when  he  could  no  longer  feel  it  right  to  hold  his  place  as 
pastor  of  the  North  Church.  In  April  he  sent  in  his  resig- 
nation, and  insisted  on  its  being  accepted,  in  spite  of  the 
urgency  of  his  people  that  he  should  reconsider,  or  consent 
to  retain  his  connection  with  them  in  some  partial  way.  He 
made  his  plans  for  breaking  up  his  home,  to  leave  Hartford 
for  a  time,  and  early  in  July  spoke  his  "  Parting  Words  "  to 
his  people.  The  text, — "  Weep  not  for  the  dead,  neither  be- 
moan him ;  but  weep  sore  for  him  that  goeth  away ;  for  he  shall 
return  no  more,  nor  see  his  native  country," — was  the  prelude 
to  a  dirge  such  as  no  other  sorrow  had  drawn  from  him. 

"  The  hand  of  God  is  upon  me,  and  I  must  go.  I  have  struggled  long 
■with  this  dark  necessity,  and  you  on  your  part  have  also  detained  me. 
Were  I  dislodged  by  you,  I  should  probably  go  with  greater  pains  and 
fewer  regrets.  It  is  even  a  part  of  my  happiness  that  I  can  go  wdth 
these  regrets  upon  me.  They  are  heavy  enough,  indeed,  to  create  a  pain, 
but  the  pain  were  much  heavier  without  them.  I  perceive  as  distinctly 
beforehand  as  I  can  at  any  future  time  that  when  I  am  finally  separated 
from  this  dear  flock,  who  have  been  the  home  of  my  heart  for  so  many 
years,  I  shall  be  sick  and  weary,  and  look  back,  with  longings  not  to  be 
suppressed,  on  these  pastorly  works  and  cares,  these  answering  words  and 
faces  left  behind.  ... 

"  You  have  kindly  urged  me  to  stay  with  you,  and  have  generously 
offered  to  have  me  as  a  burden,  when  you  could  not  have  me  any  lon- 
ger as  an  effective  pastor  and  servant.  You  have  even  claimed  it  as 
your  right  to  repay  in  this  manner  what  you  have  generously  agreed 
to  consider  a  debt  fairly  incurred.  But  the  sense  of  being  a  burden, 
and  living  as  a  pensioner,  you  can  readily  see,  might,  to  persons  of  a 
certain  temperament,  be  insupportable.     I  acknowledge  it  is  so  to  me ; 

28 


424  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

not  because  I  distrust  your  constancy  in  such  pledges,  but  because  it  in- 
volves the  being  consciously  a  drawback  on  your  prosperity  as  a  congre- 
gation, Avhich  it  has  been  the  habitual  study  of  my  life  to  advance.  Your 
interest  plainly  requires  me  to  be  gone,  and  obediently  to  that  I  go.  .  .  . 

"I  ought,  perhaps,  to  say  that  it  is  not  merely  to  gain  a  lengthened 
lease  of  life  that  I  am  induced  to  make  this  trjdng  sacrifice.  If  I  had 
nothing  to  live  for,  I  certainly  would  not  wish  to  live  a  day  longer.  But 
I  am  encouraged  in  the  hope  of  being  so  far  recovered  in  health  that  I 
may  prosecute,  in  a  careful  way,  objects  and  themes  of  study  that  api^ear 
to  me  to  have  no  secondary  importance.  I  hope  to  support  a  fractional 
ministry  by  the  press,  when  I  cannot  the  full  routine  of  the  pastoral  of- 
fice. In  this  hope  I  consent  to  go  into  exile,  though  to  sever  these  ties 
and  tear  myself  away  costs  me  a  struggle  which  I  will  not  trust  myself 
to  describe ;  a  struggle  which  I  try  to  compose,  by  indulging  the  further 
hope  that  I  may  yet  return  to  Hartford,  and  here  may  close  my  days. 
My  dear  people  I  cannot  have  again ;  they  are  mine  no  more ;  but  it  will 
be  something,  if  I  may,  to  die  among  them  and  be  finally  lodged,  as  a 
resurrection  guest,  in  the  dust  of  a  city  whose  people  I  have  loved  the 
more  that  I  have  tried  to  serve  them,  and  have  experienced  at  theii-  hands 
so  much  of  confidence,  good-will,  and  forbearance.  .  .  . 

"  As  confidence  begets  love,  and  love  begets  returning  love,  we  have 
grown  together  in  a  kind  of  conjugal  understanding,  and  felt  community 
of  life  and  character,  such  as  seldom  is  known  in  the  happiest  of  pastoral 
relations.  With  you  thus  for  twenty-six  years,  in  all  the  tenderest  issues 
and  subtlest  windings  of  your  life ;  by  you  in  your  disasters  and  troubles, 
and  in  your  holidays  of  success ;  close  enough  to  you  to  feel  the  touch 
of  your  anxieties  and  tremblings  for  your  children,  and  the  throb  of 
your  private  thanksgivings  on  account  of  them  ;  at  your  weddings ;  by 
you  in  your  sick-chambers  and  your  funerals ;  with  you  in  your  struggles 
under  and  with  and  out  of  your  sins ;  sometimes  crossing  you  a  little 
and  sometimes  a  little  crossed  by  you, — with  no  other  effect  than  that 
pulling  the  cord  has  tightened  it, — in  this  manner  my  ministry  among 
you  has  been  a  kind  of  course  in  trust  and  well-experimented  aff"ection, 
a  good  element  for  courage  and  growth,  an  element,  at  once,  of  stimu- 
lus and  rest  for  the  heart.  .  .  . 

"  The  end  is  now  come.  This  day's  sermon  is  the  last  of  my  ministry 
with  you.  The  really  sad  thing  with  me  is  that  my  experiment  with  you 
is  ended.  I  look  back  on  you  now  as  a  ship  looks  back  on  a  receding 
shore.  .  . .  The  grace  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  be  with  you  all :  in  this, 
Farewell." 

To  Dr.  Bartol 

Hartford,  July  4, 1859. 

My  dear  Friexd, — Your  "  Key  to  the  Kingdom ''  fits  the 
lock,  I  most  certainly  believe.     I  have  read  it  with  delight ; 


LETTERS.  425 

nothing  else  for  a  long  time  with  so  much.  Everything  is 
admirably  put,  and  it  cannot  but  have  an  excellent  as  well 
as  powerful  effect.  The  only  fault  I  find  with  it  is  that  now 
and  then  your  wits  are  too  nimble,  zigzag,  too  chain-lightning- 
like, for  us  slow  mortals  to  keep  up  with  you.  But  it  is  a 
noble  sermon,  and  will  do  good.  The  only  distrust  I  have  of 
it  is  that,  when  you  come  to  show  the  way  of  arriving  at  this 
"  consciousness  of  God,"  you  will  too  nearly  hold  that  we 
have  it  already,  and  that  we  come  to  it  by  no  arrival  at  all. 
The  arrival  out  of  a  sin -state,  the  grand,  new- creating,  all- 
transforming  discovery,  the  being  born  into  it,  —  will  you 
make  room  for  it,  or  will  you  be  too  shy,  in  the  Boston  fash- 
ion, of  sin,  the  dark,  wild,  terrible,  world -desolating  fact  of 
Plato  and  Paul  ? 

I  took  my  leave  of  my  people  last  Sunday,  and  am  gather- 
ing up  my  affairs  to  be  off.  I  shall  go  the  last  of  this  week 
or  the  beginning  of  next.  Give  my  best  love  to  Mrs.  B.  and 
L.  When  shall  I  see  them  again?  You  will  always  be  a 
bright  spot  to  me. 

Yours  ever,  Horace  Bushnell. 

Before  the  day  of  departure  came,  his  people  gathered 
about  him  with  increasing  tenderness,  and  a  lingering  care 
for  his  welfare  that  grew  as  the  opportunities  diminished. 
What  they  would  have  gladly  done  for  him  he  had  not  per- 
mitted them  to  do.  But  to  make  some  generous  provision  for 
his  future  was  still  in  their  power,  and  this  they  quietly  agreed 
among  themselves  to  do.  The  result  was  a  gift  of  ten  thousand 
dollars,  offered  as  he  went,  and  unhesitatingly  accepted  as  the 

genuine  offering  of  their  love. 

Detroit,  July  14, 1859. 

My  ever-deae  Wife, — You  see  that  I  am  so  far  on  my 
way.  I  arrived  here  yesterday  about  one  o'clock  p.m.,  all  in 
good  keeping.  The  night  part  of  the  journey  was  really  the 
best.  I  slept  a  great  many  sleeps,  one  or  two  of  them  rather 
big  ones,  so  that  I  was  in  good  case  to  go  on  at  the  Bridge 
in  the  gray  of  the  morning. 

I  fell  in  with  an  old  college  acquaintance  in  the  street  last 


426  LIFE   OF   HOliACE   BUSHNELL. 

evening,  and  with  him  I  took  a  long  stroll,  saw  the  lions,  and 
called  on  the  cousins.  I  find  them  to  be  all  nice  people,  in 
high  estimation  here,  one  of  them  a  judge  of  the  Supreme 
Court.  AVith  these  lives  the  old  lady-mother,  about  seventy- 
five  years  old,  clear-witted,  crank,  and  smart  as  steel.  I  had 
not  seen  her  before,  since  I  was  a  mere  child,  but  had  always 
a  strangely  fond  feeling,  older  almost  than  memory,  for  the 
good  Aunt  Lois.  Is  it  true  or  not,  that  the  feelings  have  a 
memory,  older  and  deeper,  even,  than  the  intelligence  ?  And 
what  a  mixture  it  is  when  these  old,  lingering  un-evanes- 
cences  steal  in,  among,  and  through  the  fresh  love  of  to-day, 
enveloped  all,  and  eternized  by  the  all-time  love  of  God !  .  .  . 

Milwaukee,  July  17, 1859. 
I  arrived  here  on  Friday  at  one  p.m.,  striking  the  Lake  at 
sunrise,  and  having  a  nice  cool  passage  across.  It  was  even  so 
cold  that  I  could  not  stay  on  the  fore-deck  with  my  blanket- 
shawl,  and  so  hot  on  landing  that  the  epithet  suffocating 
might  be  used  as  a  cooler.  I  like  this  Milwaukee  much ;  it  is 
one  of  the  finest  of  all  the  new  cities  of  the  West.  ...  I  am 
thinking  all  the  while  of  the  undecided  things  left  behind, 
and  wanting  to  hear  that  they  turn  as  I  wish.  Robin,  dear 
fellow,  the  house,  etc.,  when  I  get  these  all  disposed  of  and 
finally  set  right,  I  shall  feel  more  like  being  a  "  certain  manP 
They  trouble  me  now,  because  of  the  feeling  that  they  must 
trouble  you.  And  yet,  what  a  fool  am  I,  when  I  know  so 
well  that  God  will  always  take  care  of  us.  Looking  back 
over  the  spaces  now  marked  off  by  this  separation,  what  do  I 
see  but  that  God  has  done  everything  for  me,  and  I  nothing 
for  myself  !  .  .  .  I  ought  in  such  an  experience  to  be  quite  easy 
as  regards  the  rest  of  the  chapter  still  to  come.  If  I  were  an 
atheist  I  should  call  myself  one  of  the  fortunate  men.  Be- 
ing a  Christian,  I  can  use  a  term  dearer  and  more  signifi- 
cant,— child  of  Providence.  That  child  let  me  be  to  the  end. 
Why  should  I  send  my  love  to  you  dear  ones  at  home,  when 
I  am  so  much  with  you  myself? 

He  reached  St.  Paul,  the  objective  point  of  his  journey. 


THOUGHTS  ON  TEACHING.  42Y 

on  the  18th  of  July;  but  happening  to  go  on  soon  to  St. 
Anthony,  he  was  led  to  tarry  there,  and  make  it  his  head- 
quarters. 

St.  Anthouy,  August  1, 1859. 

My  dear  Daughter, —  .  .  .  You  must  make  up  your  mind 
to  have  a  complete  mastery  of  everything  you  teach,  and 
then  to  really  teach  it,  ^.  <?.,  to  quicken  the  minds  given  you 
to  work  upon,  to  make  them  curious  and  quick.  In  a  word, 
you  must  have  fire  enough  in  the  subjects  to  start  enthusi- 
asm for  them.  Suppose,  for  example,  you  have  the  subject 
of  geography,  what  is  geography  in  the  teaching  but  to  get 
the  topical  memory  of  places,  names,  etc.,  charged  with  an- 
swers to  questions  ?  No  such  thing.  It  is  a  great  deal  more. 
There  is  a  scheme  of  reason  in  geography.  The  water-sheds 
determine  the  rivers  running  down  them.  Altitudes,  winds, 
and  degrees  of  latitude  determine  the  productions ;  these  the 
occupations ;  and  these,  to  a  great  extent,  the  character  of  the 
people.  Inland  regions  make  one  class  of  people,  shores  and 
commerce  another.  What  you  want  is  a  complete  and  full 
perception  of  wdiat  is  relational  in  parts,  localities,  religious, 
etc. ;  and  this  requires  thought  and  study.  So  you  will  drop 
in  thoughts,  not  in  the  books,  and  raise  questions  that  have 
to  do  with  world-making.  So  in  grammar.  Grammar-books 
have  to  do  with  mere  uses ;  but  there  are  reasons  back  of  the 
uses  by  which  they  themselves  are  determined ;  and  a  few 
glimpses  given  at  these  will  start  curiosity,  and  give  a  wholly 
different  complexion  to  studies.  You  have  a  great  deal  to 
do  to  thoroughly  qualify  yourself.  If  you  teach  nothing  but 
what  is  in  the  books,  you  want  to  get,  for  your  own  sake  in 
teaching,  as  deep  insight  as  possible.  Of  course  you  cannot 
penetrate  everything  to  the  bottom  in  a  day,  but  you  can  do 
something,  and  continually  more. . . .  God  bless  you,  my  child, 
and  prepare  you  to  all  best  things.  With  unspeakable  love. 
Your  father,  H.  B. 

St.  Anthony,  Monday,  August  14, 1859. 
Dear  D., — I  should  have  written  you  a  letter  days  ago,  but 
I  guessed  that  you  were  up  in  the  mountains,  so  happy  that 


428  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

you  would  not  want  one.  Tell  your  mother  that  I  am  angry 
with  her.  That  breakfast !  She  had  no  business  to  say  any- 
thing about  it.  Bread,  butter,  baked  apples,  coffee,  whortle- 
berries, and  Jane's  potatoes !  We  have  no  fruit  here,  abso- 
lutely none,  except  some  poor  dewberries.  As  to  the  nice 
Jane-potatoes,  nobody  has  them  that  has  not  Jane. 

I  am  looking  still  after  a  second  Robhi.  Surrounded  by 
horses  and  circumvented  by  jockeys,  I  have  tried  and  reject- 
ed about  two  a  day,  sometimes  three  or  four.  This  morning 
after  breakfast  I  am  to  try  another,  which  stands  well  in  de- 
scription, and  perhaps  I  shall  be  through  soon  enough  to  tell 
you  the  result  before  my  letter  is  mailed. 

Half -past  11. — Well,  I  have  tried  the  horse,  driven  him, 
and  ridden  him,  all  in  the  hottest  of  hot  days.  I  think  he 
will  do.  He  is  a  light  chestnut,  sprinkled  with  white  hairs 
just  like  old  Bessy,  a  rather  superlatively  fine  horse,  a  hun- 
dred-weight bigger  than  Eobin,  taller,  longer,  without  as 
much  inspiration  or  love-making  power.  The  fact  is  that  I 
am  almost  spoiled  for  a  horse  ;  and  when  you  speak  of  Robin, 
and  the  good  name  he  has  won,  I  am  half  ready  to  weep.  When 
you  see  him,  give  him  my  special  love,  and  tell  the  C 's  how 

much  I  envy  them. 

St.  Anthony,  August  30, 1859. 

My  deabest  Wife, — I  got  your  letter  of  expostulation,  re- 
monstrance, etc.,  this  noon.  You  are  quite  unnecessarily 
troubled  by  your  auguries  about  my  writing  for  the  New 
Englander.  I  am  doing  no  such  thing, — have  scarcely  had  a 
thought  of  it.  I  am  doing  absolutely  nothing  but  loaf,  ride, 
eat,  and  sleep.  I  do  not  even  read.  And  I  think  I  just  be- 
gin to  see  the  benefit  of  it,  which  benefit,  if  it  come,  I  shall 
not  make, haste  to  lose.  I  have  ridden  horseback  to-day 
about  twenty  miles,  enjoyed  it  mightily,  and  have  even  been 
tired  enough  to  sleep. 

I  am  affected  by  the  tender,  always  wifely,  care  of  me  shown 
by  your  letters,  and  none  the  less  that  you  lecture  me  a  little 
in  your  watchfulness ;  nor  any  the  less  that,  in  the  jealousy 
of  your  watch,  you  sometimes  try  to  keep  me  from  the  sui- 
cide I  really  do  not  mean  to  commit.     The  watch  of  a  wife 


LAKE   MINNETONKA.  429 

is  a  very  close  one,  and  sublimely  tireless, — a  kind  of  femi- 
nine Providence  tliat  never  sleeps.  God  be  thanked  that  my 
love  to  mine  is  worn  so  deep  into  me  by  her  tender  persecu- 
tions. But  I  must  stop,  lest  I  say  something  a  little  softer 
than  is  becoming.  The  good  Father  watch  that  pillow  to- 
night, and  whisper  peace  into  its  dreams.  The  angels,  I 
doubt  not,  love  to  visit  the  slumbers  of  all  faithful  wives,  just 
to  see  how  a  true  heart  beats  when  the  will  is  laid.  But  I 
am  getting  deeper  and  deeper  into  this  poetry,  if  you  please 
to  call  it  so.  And,  lest  you  should  call  it  something  else,  I 
will  go  to  bed,  and  have  no  more  of  it.     Good-night. 

St.  Anthony,  September  5, 1859. 
Mt  dearest  Daughter, — I  have  just  returned  from  a  few 
days'  fishing  excursion,  the  place  being  twenty-live  miles  off, 
Mr.  Winthrop  found  buggy,  and  I  found  horse,  and  a  right 
beautiful  drive  it  was.  One  of  his  clients,  who  had  invited 
him  out,  met  us  at  Excelsior  (think  of  that !),  and  took  us  up 
to  his  log-hut  and  home,  seven  or  eight  miles  inland,  where 
we  had  our  centre  of  motion.  This  log-hut,  pioneer  life  is  a 
kind  of  new  experience  to  me,  a  phase  of  work  and  trial  such 
as  no  one  can  at  all  know  or  think  of  with  due  sympathy, 
without  being  in  it.  Here  was  a  man  and  woman,  intelligent, 
spirited,  correct  people,  who  had  been  living  in  trade  in  Pitts- 
burg, and  came  on  here  to  cut  out  a  hole  in  the  big  woods  on 
the  shore  of  Lake  Minnetonka,  and  pre-empt  a  farm.  The 
woman  was  delicate,  and  had  two  children  (and  now  another 
little  one  five  weeks  old),  and  the  man  had  no  experience  of 
w^ork.  lie  had  his  house  to  build  with  his  own  hands,  the 
sturdy  trees  to  cut  down,  no  team  to  plough  with,  no  means 
to  buy  a  horse  or  a  cow,  and  yet  in  three  years'  time  he  has 
cleared  ten  acres,  planted  it  with  his  hoe,  got  it  "covered  with 
corn,  rich  and  tall,  and  all  the  finest  garden  vegetables.  His 
wife  has  helped  him  plant,  kept  the  house  surrounded  with 
flowers,  and  even  taken  hold  of  the  cross-cut  saw  with  him  to 
cut  up  the  logs,  growing  healthy  out  of  a  poor,  almost  dying, 
invalid ;  a  little  wiry,  slender,  mercurial,  cheerful  woman,  who 
was  all  wife,  as  her  "  father  "  was  all  husband,  and  only  con- 


430  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

fessing  that  she  had  cried  a  few  pailfiils  over  the  washing, 
which  went  most  against  her  of  all.  She  was  the  daughter  of 
an  Independent  English  minister,  just  now  with  her, — an  old 
man,  red-hot  against  the  Pope,  and  talking  himself  into  regu- 
lar harangues  or  sermons,  till  his  audience  burst  out  laughing 
at  him,  now  and  then,  and  stopped  him.  We  had  a  good  bed 
in  the  "  parlor,"  where  much  weather-worn  furniture  graced 
the  show, — including  a  well-filled  bookcase.  But  the  kitchen 
was  the  centre  of  life.  There  we  sat  round  the  fire,  roasting 
ourselves,  while  madam  roasted  the  chickens,  fried  the  fish, 
baked  the  biscuit,  and  talked  well  and  sensibly.  If  you  can 
believe  it,  I  took  it  on  me  to  tell  her  how  to  make  a  chowder, 
and  a  capital  one  it  was :  a  layer  of  fish,  then  one  of  pilot- 
bread,  and  potatoes,  and  onions;  another  of  fish;  and  having 
no  pork,  a  little  dash  of  lard ;  having  no  milk,  a  large  cutting 
and  scraping  of  green  corn,  with  the  water  in  which  it  was 
boiled ;  a  little  pepper  and  salt, — so  a  dish  for  a  prince.  Try 
it  and  see.  By-the-way,  w^e  caught  about  a  hundred  fish,  one- 
third  of  which  we  brought  back  to  the  hotel  with  us,  filling 
a  large  market-basket  full.  The  largest  bass  which  I  caught 
weighed  six  pounds.  The  weather  was  cold,  windy,  rainy  at 
night,  unfavorable,  uncomfortable,  but  we  managed  to  have  a 
good  time.  I  like  Winthrop ;  he  is  a  real  gentleman,  a  good 
deal  witty,  and  very  correct  and  pure. 

Well,  I  have  talked  a  long  yarn,  telling  you  nothing  about 
the  Lake,  the  strangest  compound  of  bays,  promontories,  isl- 
ands, and  straits  ever  put  together —  a  perfect  maze,  in  which 
a  stranger  would  be  utterly  lost. 

My  letter  is  now  ashore,  stranded;  so  I  stop  and  go  out  to 
a  morning  ride.     All-love  to  all.  Youk  Father. 

September  8, 1859. 
Winthrop  and  I  have  been  talking  of  a  trip  to  the  wild 
lake-country  of  the  North,  but  I  don't  know  that  it  will  end 
in  anything.  I  really  feel  now  as  if  I  wanted  to  make  a 
pitch  into  nature,  back  on  first  principles,  back  of  all  conven- 
tionalities of  tables,  beds,  and  such-like.  My  rough  trip  to 
Minnetonka  has  done  me  good. 


AN   UNCERTAIN  FUTURE.  431 

St.  Anthony,  September  19, 1859. 

My  dear  Daughtek, — I  am  glad  tliat  you  and  D had 

such  a  nice  time  in  the  moiintains.  Your  mother  did  not 
tell  you  that  the  road  you  went  up  by  the  stream  dashing 
down,  was  the  road  we  descended  on  our  wedding  tour,  after 
eating  the  live  rooster*  on  the  top  of  the  hill.  I  agree  with 
you  that  it  is  very  beautiful,  and  enjoy  it  over  again  with  a 
new  kind  of  pleasure,  paternal  and  marital  mixed  in  about 
equal  quantities.  We  seem  to  be  fast  becoming  a  kind  of 
vagabond  family,  and  we  know  as  little  as  possible  where  we 
are  coming  out ;  but  our  good  Father  has  never  deserted  us, 
and  I  do  not  believe  that  he  will.  Enough  that  he  lets  ns 
see  our  future  as  fast  as  it  comes  along,  and  we  must  be  con- 
tent to  see  no  farther.  Be  it  the  great  thing  with  us  to  meet 
and  worthily  fill  the  present.  God's  approbation  makes  a 
home  for  us  anywhere. 

It  seems  to  be  a  very  clear  matter  that  I  am  to  winter  here, 
and  I  have  a  good  deal  of  confidence  that  I  shall  be  much  im- 
proved, if  not  restored.  This  latter,  I  sometimes  think,  is  al- 
together too  much  to  be  expected.  Yet  even  this  is  possible. 
Make  it  a  fact,  and  then  comes  the  question  which  I  specially 
dread, — What  next?  Whither  to  go?  what  to  be  and  do? 
An  antique  gentleman,  with  a  wife  and  children,  coming  up 
to  begin  life  over  again !  What  a  predicament !  Well,  if 
God  says  it,  I  will  try,  somehow  and  somewhere,  to  do  it. 

It  was  now  settled  that  the  household  in  Hartford  should 
break  up  for  a  season,  and  that  Mrs.  Bushnell  should  join  her 
Inisband  in  Minnesota,  to  spend  the  winter  there. 

St.  Anthony,  October  5, 1859. 
My  dear  Daughter, —  .  .  .  This  breaking  up,  and  these 
little  notes  that  I  am  writing,  have  a  kind  of  sad  meaning  to 
me.  It  seems  to  be  putting  by  a  home,  not  completely  gone 
before.  It  is  a  little  like  going  out  of  life ;  for  what  is  life 
to  me  but  to  be  with,  or  have  about  me,  those  dear  conver- 

*  A  bird  of  repute  in  the  fomily,  as  one  too  hastily  beheaded  to  grace 
that  weddina:  feast. 


432  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

sants  of  the  house  and  table,  and  the  thousand  other  minor 
offices  in  which  we  have  been  held,  with  a  peace  and  sweet- 
ness of  feeling  so  nearly  unconscious,  but  only  the  deeper  and 
more  necessary  on  that  account !  But  we  shall  not  be  long 
asunder.     God  forbid ! 

I  had  the  most  beautiful  solitary  ride  yesterday  tliat  I  ever 
had  in  my  life.  The  day  was  perfect,  a  soft  blue  Indian  sum- 
mer, a  good  match  for  Italy.  I  undertook  to  visit  a  high 
ground  that  I  had  seen  here  and  there  in  my  rides,  the  high- 
est, probably,  in  Southern  or  Middle  Minnesota.  I  mistook 
my  road,  for  there  are  no  settlements  in  the  region,  and  cross- 
ed a  marsh  where  the  road  vanished  into  a  trail.  Shortly  the 
trail  vanished,  and  I  was  out  in  the  lone  world  like  a  deer. 
But  the  mountain,  if  such  it  is  to  be  called,  I  had  in  sight 
about  three  miles  off,  and  I  picked  my  way  through  grass 
and  bushes  and  among  marshes,  till  I  reached  it.  Here  I  had 
a  wide  champaign  of  lakes  and  woods,  with  one  or  two  roofs 
barely  discernible  at  my  feet ;  twelve  lakes,  great  and  small, 
were  glittering  in  the  landscape,  some  five,  or  six,  or  eight 
miles  long.  Returning,  I  found  a  blind  but  beautiful  natural 
road,  and  took  it,  in  a  kind  of  pensive,  solitary  glee,  through 
oaks  and  oaks,  by  lakes  and  lakes,  and  so  got  back  a  little 

after  twelve. 

Thursday,  October  6, 1859. 

So  now  we  are  fairly  afloat  and  without  a  home.  Another 
sad  thing  it  is,  is  it  not?  And  yet  the  necessity  takes  off  much 
of  the  sadness.  We  can  do  anything  or  bear  anything  with 
a  good  will,  if  only  it  is  necessary.  This  strong  master,  push- 
ing behind  us,  makes  us  brave  and  strong.  The  coward  and 
faint  hearts,  I  sometimes  imagine,  are  all  made  by  the  fault 
of  a  necessity.  After  all,  necessity,  I  have  found,  is  a  good 
mother,  even  the  best.  She  has  nursed  me  up  to  this  time, 
and  compelled  me  to  grow.  God  forbid  that  I  should  now 
deny  her  motherhood!  Let  me  have  it  to  the  end,  and  let  it 
be  the  nurse  of  my  children.  For  they  will  be,  or  become, 
only  as  she  helps  them,  I  am  quite  sure. 

Do  not  call  this  a  hard  kind  of  comfort;  hard  comforts 
are  the  best  for  us  all ;  soft  ones  ruin  us. 


WINTER  CLIMATE  OF  MINNESOTA.  433 

St.  Anthony,  December  6, 1859. 

Deak  L , — Your  mother  told  ine  last  evening  that  I 

owed  jon  a  letter,  which  I  had  really  forgotten ;  so  I  take 
hold  of  the  case  with  a  ready  appetite  before  breakfast  this 
morning,  not  to  pay  a  debt,  but  to  warm  myself  up  by  a  talk, 
through  my  just  now  dreadfully  cold  fingers.  AVashing  in 
ice-water,  which  one  gets  by  pounding  into  a  pail  with  a  stick 
of  wood,  is  almost  enough  to  cool  down  his  love  to  everybody. 

Last  Tuesday  your  mother  and  I  took  a  ride  into  the  woods 
and  bushes  on  a  bright,  soft,  sunny  day,  looking  after  a  gem 
of  a  lake  which  has  filled  our  imagination  a  good  deal,  and 
enjoying  mightily  the  scenery  and  the  day,  and  the  wholly 
new  experience  of  a  ride,  away  from  all  roads,  in  the  depths 
of  nature.  Everybody  was  saying,  "What  softness  and  beau- 
ty for  the  last  of  November!"  The  next  day  the  thermome- 
ter was  6°  below  zero,  the  next  22°.  And  now  this  morning, 
after  a  lull  of  the  hyperborean  wrath,  we  are  down  again  at 
22°,  with  a  sky  perfectly  cloudless,  a  frozen  crystal  sky,  which 
the  sun  pours  through  but  cannot  warm.  We  get  very  little 
snow  as  yet;  the  weather  is  too  cold  for  snow.  And  yet  I 
have  a  certain  liking  for  this  kind  of  weather,  and  I  suppose 
partly  because  it  does  me  good.  I  preached  Sunday  evening 
at  St.  Paul  before  the  Young  Men's  Christian  Association. 
It  was  a  little  refreshing  to  me,  this  visit  to  St.  Paul,  and  the 
scene  of  a  good  large  audience.  It  was  a  little  like  being 
somebody  for  the  time,— a  really  live  man. 

I  must  not  omit  to  tell  you  that  I  have  had  one  new  expe- 
rience in  the  freezing  of  an  ear^ — very  uninteresting !  But  it 
has  brought  me  a  new  fur  cap,  in  which  I  hope  the  outworks 
will  be  a  little  more  safe. 

With  all  that  is  trying  in  our  present  broken  state,  there 
ouglit  to  be  some  benefit  accruing  to  us  all,  and  I  trust  there 
will  be.  And  so,  when  we  come  together  again,  at  just  the 
right  time,  I  have  a  certain  confidence  that  we  shall  be  some- 
how  enriched,  and  better  qualified  to  what  is  before  us.  You 
daughters  will  have  settled  into  practical  and  just  views  of 
life,  gotten  hold  of  the  proportions  of  things,  and  will  be  the 
better  qualified  for  a  dignified  and  sober  oflSce  of  industry  in 


434  LIFE   OF   HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

tlie  world.  After  all,  there  is  no  teaching  so  good  as  that 
Avhich  we  get  in  the  solid  training  of  works  and  duties.  Let 
your  religious  character  come  into  the  same  good  drill  of 
practice,  in  the  family,  in  the  care  of  yourself,  in  society,  in 
your  works ;  for  religion  is  that  nobler  half  of  life  without 
which  nothing  stands  in  a  true  balance.  It  wants  the  same 
kind  of  practical  training  as  the  other  side,  and  will  marvel- 
lously help  and  steady  that.  .  .  . 

Your  loving  father,  Horace  Bushnell. 

To  Dr.  Bartol. 

St.  Antliouy,  February  7, 1860. 
My  DEAR  Friend  and  Brother,  —  I  do  not  forget  you 
when  I  do  not  write,  for  the  not  writing  itself  is  a  kind  of 
tormenting  remembrancer.  Tlie  fact  is  that  I  have  joined 
the  barbarians  since  I  came  out  here,  and  feel  hardly  justified 
in  trying  to  talk  with  the  Athenians.  You  may  understand 
from  this,  as  well  as  from  my  conduct  generally,  that  I  am 
really  inclining  to  be  a  Minnesotian.  I  have  been  here  now 
for  seven  or  eight  months,  and  find  that  the  climate  agrees 
with  me.  Such  a  winter  climate,  so  dry  and  bright  and  still,  I 
never  saw.  The  cold  is  sometimes  terrible  by  the  thermome- 
ter, and  yet  I  do  not  suffer  from  it  half  as  badly  as  I  should 
in  Boston,  for  it  is  a  still,  dry  cold.  I  came  home  from  church 
on  Sunday  in  a  kind  of  clear,  light,  ice-cake  transparency  of 
a  day,  enjoying  the  air  as  a  luxury,  and  found  the  thermome- 
ter 16°  below  zero.  J^ot  a  drop  of  rain  have  we  had  here 
since  Thanksgiving;  only  half  a  dozen  little  featherings  of 
snow  and  no  snow-storm;  no  thaw  but  a  slight  sun-thaw; 
nights  of  the  seventh  sphere,  and  none  of  the  lower.  What 
do  you  say — will  you  come  and  settle  down  in  this  paradise, 
and  farm  it  with  us  ?  Seriously,  I  have  a  little  thought  of 
some  such  possibility.  .  .  .     With  great  love  to  you  all, 

II.  BuSHNELL. 

To . 

St.  Anthony,  February  14, 1860. 
I  do  not  feel  quite  sure  that  I  got  hold  of  your  precise 
point.     You  certainly  ought  to  love  Christ,  "  because  he  is 


LOVING   CHRIST   ARTISTlCxVLLY.  435 

good"  and  "the  impersonation  of  the  good;"  his  "beauty" 
ought  to  be  the  rest  of  your  heart.  There  is  nothing  selfish, 
so  far ;  on  the  contrary,  it  would  be  a  good  deal  more  like 
selfishness  if  you  were  to  love  him  because  he  has  come  after 
you  in  good  offices  of  help  and  deliverance.  Not  that  you 
necessarily  would  be  selfish  in  that,  but  that,  if  your  love 
turned  on  a  more  personal  benefit  to  yourself,  apart  from  his 
excellence  and  beauty,  and  from  the  inherent  worth  or  wor- 
thiness of  the  state  into  which  he  would  bring  yon,  you  would 
be.  You  ought  also  to  "please  yourself  in  being  good,"  and 
even  want  to  be  pleased  in  the  same;  it  would  be  no  better, 
certainly,  for  you  to  seek  good  as  a  hardship  and  drag  your- 
self on  to  it,  or  towards  it,  by  compulsion.  Liberty  is  the 
element  of  all  true  good ;  and  the  state  of  liberty  is  that 
which  has  the  spontaneity  of  play  in  what  it  does,  following 
after  the  good  for  its  own  sake, 

I  suspect  that  your  difficulty  is  not  so  much  that  you  are 
selfish,  precisely,  in  the  matter  of  your  love  to  Christ's  good- 
ness and  beauty,  as  that  you  love  him  only  artistically.  There 
are  two  modes  of  love, —  admiration  and  felt  affinity,  the 
practical  or  practically  Christian  and  the  artistic,  neither  of 
which  is  at  all  selfish.  AVhen  you  admire  a  landscape,  or 
love  a  beautiful  child,  there  is  no  self-seeking  in  it,  no  com- 
putation of  self-ad  vantage,  and  yet  it  is  not  Christian.  It  is 
a  disinterested,  artistic  or  aesthetic  love.  You  may  be  a  self- 
ish person,  thus  loving,  but  this  is  not  your  selfishness.  In 
the  same  way,  we  may  love  Christ  artistically,  as  being  the 
perfect  beauty  and  good,  where  there  is  nothing  selfish  in  the 
love,  but  only  full  room  left  to  be  a  selfish  person.  Xow  the 
practical  love,  the  Christian  love,  is  being  joined  to  Christ  so 
as  to  be  in  self-sacrifice  with  him,  and  be,  in  so  far,  an  un- 
selfish person. 

The  former  kind  of  love  requires  no  self-sacrifice,  but  only 
a  natural  capacity  of  sentiment.  The  latter  begins  in  the 
loss  of  all  things,  in  the  taking  up  of  Christ's  cross  with 
him.  The  former  love  rises  out  of  the  heart,  when  it  is  full 
and  ready.  The  latter  breaks  into  the  heart,  when  it  is  emp- 
tied and  broken.     That  requires  contemplation  only  ;  this  re- 


436  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

quires  faitli,  and  is  a  fire  of  God's  own  kindling  in  the  heart 
of  faith,  an  inspired  or  divinely  inbreathed  love.  Nature 
works  in  one,  grace  and  regenerated  nature  in  the  other. 
The  real  difference  lies  in  the  fact  that  one  kind  of  love  sim- 
ply plays  out  the  life  as  it  is,  and  the  other  takes  deep  hold 
enouo-h  of  it  to  change  and  work  it  into  the  semhlance  of 
ChriS's. 

Let  me  advise  you,  now,  not  to  fall  into  the  mistake  of 
requiring  yourself  to  love  without  any  motive.  That  will 
make  a  knot  which  no  Alexander  can  cut.  It  lands  you  in. 
a  state  where  there  is  no  impulse  left  for  anything,  like  that 
sweep  of  the  ocean  which  the  sailors  call  the  Doldrums,  be- 
cause there  is  no  wand  blow^ing  there  to  waft  them  out. 
Don't  require  yourself  not  to  take  the  good  and  Christ  artis- 
tically ;  only  lift  more  sail  and  take  in  more  scope,  and  try  to 
love  "him  more  practically  and  conformably.  Put  yourself 
on  the  footing  of  sacrifice;  give  up  your  poor  broken  hu- 
manity in  a  radical  dependence,  to  be  wrought  in  as  God 
only  can  work.  Make  no  quarrel  tliat  you  seem  to  be  in  a 
mixed  state,  and  not  an  angelic,  and  be  careful  not  to  lose 
momentum  by  stopping  all  the  while  to  see  whither  you 
move  and  how  you  move.  Only  see  how  tender  Christ  will 
be  of  all  your  inferiority,  and  how  certain  to  struggle  with 
you  and  help  you  on. 

I  fear  that  I  may  not  have  touched  your  case  so  as  to  be 
intelligible  to  you.  Tell  me,  and  I  will  try  again.  Only  do 
not  forget  that  nothing  is  clear  which  is  not  cleared  by  the 

Spirit. 

St.  Anthony's  Falls,  March  23, 1860. 

My  dear  Mes.  E ,— I  have  been  pressed  a  long  time 

with  the  matter  of  a  word  to  you,  but  the  real  fact  about  it  is 
that  I  particularly  do  not  like  to  write  to  you.  I  have  been 
accustomed  to  swing  that  hospitable,  easy  gate,  and  drop  in 
at  almost  any  hour  w^ith  your  cheery,  lively  circle,  then  to  be 
off,  the  more  light-hearted  for  the  little  campaign  of  lively 
talk,  and  the  more  freshened  in  love  and  good-nature  that 
love  and  good-nature  have  found  such  easy  play.  This  has 
been  my  w^ay  so  long  that  I  really  distaste  writing  you  a  let- 


LETTERS.  437 

ter— what  can  a  letter  do  for  nie?  It  is  much  as  if  one's 
right  hand  should  begin  to  write  to  his  left.  Well,  so  I  sup- 
pose it  must  be.  The  past  must  be  past,  whether  we  will  or 
not.  God  be  thanked  that  it  has  been  so  happy  and  bright  a 
past.  If  only  I  had  been  as  faithful  in  all  things  as  I  ought 
to  have  been,  my  remembrances  of  this  time  gone  by  would 
be  welcome  enough,  even  totally,  joyfully  welcome. 

We  are  living^iere  in  a  kind  of  majestic  solitude  and  dry- 
ness, having,  in  fact,  no  society,  except  as  we  go  down  to  St. 
Paul  occasionally.  We  expected  to  have  wintered  there,  but 
could  find  no  place  of  residence  where  we  could  be  half  as 
comfortable  as  we  are  in  a  good,  hospitable  ISTew  England 
family  here.  I  am  very  glad  it  so  happened,  for  I  have  en- 
joyed the  total  silence  and  peace  mightily.  I  hope  I  have 
made  some  gain,  but  do  not  feel  quite  sure  of  it.  We  have 
had  nothing  to  do,  literally  nothing,  but  to  enjoy  our  old 
friends  over  again,  and  they  are  excellently  good,  used  in 
that  way.  Did  you  ever  imagine  how  you  would  taste,  when 
ruminated  upon  as  cuds  of  old  acquaintance  ?  AVell,  you  are 
better  than  you  think, 

God  bless  you,  dear  Mrs.  E .     When  shall  I  see  you 

again?  Above  all,  when  shall  your  kind  face  and  voice  ever 
come  back  to  greet  me  anywhere  else,  under  any  other  name? 
Give  my  dearest  love  to  your  daughters. 

Yours  truly,  H.  B. 

St.  Anthpny,  April  17, 1860. 

My  dear  D , —  ...  It  will  do  you  good  to  play  with 

these  poetic  modes.  The  first  thing  I  ever  wrote  was  in 
rhyme,  and  by  that  I  was  put  on  to  try  my  hand  more  suc- 
cessfully at  something  else.  I  was  then  about  your  age,  or, 
rather,  two  or  three  years  younger,  and  I  had  a  whole  winter 
at  school  as  my  first  gale  of  inspiration. 

Put  yourself  to  it  to  write  a  large,  full,  regular,  and  free 
hand.  Bring  in  no  quirks  and  flourishes.  Write  a  straight, 
natural  hand,  without  ambition — downright  honest. 

I  got  caught,  three  days  ago,  by  a  chill  in  riding,  with  a 
resulting   derangement,  which  was   not   a   cold   exactly,  but 


438  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

something  not  any  better.  I  had  been  engineering  a  way- 
over  a  trackless  sand-hill  prairie,  in  a  cold,  raw  wind,  and  be- 
came so  interested  in  the  problem  of  coming  out  right,  that 
I  did  not  know  how  cold  I  was  till  I  reached  home,  when  I 
found  myself  quite  chilled  through.  But  I  am  coming  out 
of  the  damage,  I  think.  We  have  had  a  wonderfully  clear, 
dry,  beautiful  spring,  a  great  deal  better  than  I  ever  expected 
to  find,  or  have  ever  seen  elsewhere.  ^ 

Tenderly  yours,  my  child,  H.  Bushnell. 


LETTERS.  439 


CHAPTER  XXL 

1860-1861. 
CLIFTON    SPEINGS. 

In  the  autunni  of  1859  tlie  Rev.  G.  N.  Webber  was  made 
the  pastor  of  the  North  Church,  and  the  next  winter,  during 
Dr.  Bushneirs  absence  in  Minnesota,  occupied  his  house. 
When  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Buslmell  returned  in  May,  I860,  it  was 
not  at  first  to  their  own  home ;  and  not  knowing  whither  to 
turn,  or  what  plans  to  make  for  the  future.  Dr.  Bushnell 
drifted  for  tlie  summer  to  the  Water  Care  at  Clifton  Springs, 
New  York,  where  he  spent  about  three  months.  He  busied 
himself  there  with  preparing  for  a  republication  of  "  Chris- 
tian Nurture,"  in  a  greatly  improved  and  amplified  shape, 
and  also  in  arranging  for  a  reprint,  in  separate  form,  of  the 
tenth  chapter  of  "Nature  and  the  Supernatural."  The  lit- 
tle book  stands  alone  very  well,  and  is  known  as  a  beautiful 
and  searching  study  of  the  "  Character  of  Jesus."  Thinking 
that  he  had  been  somewhat  benefited  at  Clifton  and  not  judg- 
ing it  best  for  the  present  to  stay  in  Hartford,  after  an  autum- 
nal visit  there,  he  left  a  part  of  his  family  established  again 
at  home,  and  returned  to  tlie  AVater  Cure  for  the  winter,  tak- 
ing his  eldest  daughter  with  him  as  a  companion. 

Clifton  Springs,  Monday,  June  13, 1860. 
My  deak  Wife, — I  am  here  in  the  general  slop  of  Water 
Cure.  I  look  on  everything  about  it  with  disgust ;  but  as  I 
used  to  have  a  certain  pride  in  taking  picra  without  crying, 
when  my  blessed  mother  gave  it  to  me,  so  I  am  trying  to 
take  this. 

I  arrived  here  on  Saturday  about  half- past  four  o'clock, 
having  one  of  the  most  beautiful  railroad  rides  I  ever  took. 

29 


440  LIFE  OF  HOKACE  BUSHNELL. 

The  weather  was  a  charm,  and  the  country  in  its  best  trim  of 
freshness  and  life,  played  on  by  lights  and  shadows  as  by  an 
instrument  of  music.  .  .  .  When  shall  we  have  a  home,  and 
become  a  certain  people  ? 

YouE  Husband  in  all  Love. 

Clifton  Springs,  June  27, 1860. 

My  ever  dear  Daughtee, — I  know  not  why  it  is  that  my 
thoughts  arc  unwontedly  turned  towards  you.  N'ot  that  they 
were  ever  slack  in  their  tendency  to  visit  you,  or  that  I  have 
now  begun  to  love  you, — a  great  way  from  that, — but  that  I 
think  of  you  more  as  bearing  the  burdens  of  life,  and  hope, 
with  great  fondness,  that  you  are  preparing  to  bear  them 
well.  And  when  I  say  "  the  burdens  of  life,"  I  understand 
that  life  is  to  be  a  holiday  affair  to  none  of  us.  All  the  bet- 
ter that  it  is  not.  I  was  never  so  well  satisfied  as  now  with 
the  working  order  and  law  under  which  we  are  set ;  for  I  can 
see  that  the  best  and  happiest  days  of  my  life  have  been  those 
most  pressed  with  labor,  and  that  all  I  have  been  able  to  be- 
come has  been  forced,  so  to  speak,  by  the  pressure  of  my 
duties  and  burdens.  It  is  a  great  point,  therefore,  to  be  prac- 
tised, in  the  tissue  of  youth,  in  bearing  some  earnest  charge 
of  labor  and  duty.  No  one  is  at  all  fitted  to  life  without  it, 
whether  man  or  woman ;  for  though  it  is  getting  to  be  a 
kind  of  general  impression  that  women, — i.  e.^  the  lady  style 
of  women, — have  nothing  to  do  but  to  dress,  look  pretty,  and 
enjoy  themselves,  I  have  no  sympathy  with  any  such  impres- 
sion. It  even  bears  a  look  of  contempt ;  and,  what  is  more, 
it  is  utterly  unpractical.  It  covers  also  a  very  great  lie  as  re- 
gards the  happiness  of  women.  God, — I  lay  it  down  as  a  first 
principle, — has  made  her  to  be  happy  in  being  something 
and  filling  some  place,  that  is,  some  place  that  has  an  office  of 
power  and  a  touch  of  magnanimity  in  it.  She  is  to  be  Chris- 
tian somewhere,  and  that  she  will  be  only  as  she  gives  a 
meaning  to  her  life. 

I  am  going  on  here  in  the  rather  dull  practice  of  washings, 
and  have  a  little  hope  that  they  may  turn  out  better  than  the 
washings  of  the  Pharisees.     I  only  hope  that  I  may  be  in  a 


TRIUMPH  OVER  BODILY  INFIRMITIES.  441 

condition  to  gather  my  dear  family  once  more  in  the  autumn. 
I  am  tired  of  this  scattering  and  being  scattered ;  homesick, 
not  as  we  commonly  speak,  to  get  back  to  a  home,  but  home- 
sick for  the  want  of  one.     God  bless  you,  my  child. 

IIOKACE   BUSUNELL. 

Thus  he  passed  the  summer,  "  playing  in  the  water,  and 
waiting,  in  sublime  inefficiency,  for  time  to  run  away,"  as  he 
said  in  a  letter.  One  who  had  seen  him  preparing  two  books 
for  the  printer  might  have  given  a  different  account  of  it. 
It  becomes  a  question  at  times  whether,  in  suppressing  the 
trying  details  of  illness  and  physical  suffering,  we  have  not 
also  obscured  the  impression  of  that  victory  over  the  body, 
which  was  so  striking  to  any  observer  of  his  invalidism.  The 
exhausting  nights  of  fevered  sleep,  and  the  weary  hours  of 
coughing  which' overtook  him  at  early  dawn,  sapping  the  life 
of  the  coming  day,  were  the  almost  daily  experience  of  many 
years.  And  yet  he  would  go  from  such  a  night  to  a  vigor- 
ous game  of  ninepins  while  at  Clifton,  and  forget  the  night- 
watches  in  the  delight  of  a  good  score  ;  or,  at  home,  start  oft" 
on  horseback  to  explore  some  new  "  Paradise "  whereon  to 
build  an  air -castle,  with  all  the  ardor  of  a  fresh  boy.  Of 
course  there  were  times  when  he  must  succumb,  but  he  made 
them  as  few  as  possible.  So  nature  kept  on  repairing  the 
waste,  and  life  renewed  itself  from  day  to  day. 

Clifton  Springs,  November  29, 1861.  ( 
Thanksgiving-day.  J 

My  ever  deae  Wife, — I  have  been  preaching  to-day,  and 
am  not  in  the  mood,  exactly,  to  write  much  of  a  letter ;  and 
yet,  when  I  fall  into  the  thanksgiving  mood,  it  carries  me 
home  with  such  a  tide  to  my  dear  wife  and  children  that  I 
must  let  myself  out  a  little  for  relief.  I  think  of  you  there 
in  the  bird's-nest,  with  such  other  birds  as  you  have  chosen 
to  gather,  and  figure  to  myself  a  quiet,  lively  day.  Perhaps  I 
idealize  it  a  little,  looking  on  from  afar,  but  it  is  not  difficult 
to  idealize  the  dear  homo  on  a  Thanksgiving-day  from  any 
outside  position.     How  many  recollections  throng  back  on 


442  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

such  a  day,  clotting  the  way  along  down  Avith  lights,  since  we 
had  our  names  and  fortunes  entered  into  unity  of  life  !  I  can 
truly  say  that  I  find  a  great  part  of  my  thankfulness  here. 
This  is  the  one  goodness  of  God  that  throws  a  most  sweet 
light  on  all  his  other  goodnesses.  Thanks  for  them  all,  and 
all  because  of  this. 

Clifton  Springs,  December  8, 1860. 

You  want  to  know  about  every  where  and  what  and  why 
and  wherefore  of  our  very  idle,  insignificant  life.  We  go  to 
bed,  we  get  up,  we  look  about,  we  yawn,  stretch,  and  yawn 
again.  And  to  this  I  sometimes  add  a  little  coughing.  As 
to  weather,  we  do  not  have  any,  or  it  is  so  mixed  that  no- 
body can  tell  what  it  is.  The  cold  I  had  has  either  not  left 
me,  or  it  has  left  me  not  improved. 

The  state  of  the  country  discomposes  and  un  tones  every- 
thing. What  is  to  be  the  end  of  it  ?  I  do  not  exactly  like 
the  temper  of  our  Republicans, — The  Indejjendent,  for  exam- 
ple, and  The  Tribune.  There  is  too  much  of  a  provoking 
uppishness  that  wants  dignity,  and  can  only  be  mischievous 
in  its  effects.  My  Thanksgiving  sermon  was  on  this  subject, 
the  same  that  I  delivered  on  the  census  a  year  ago,  with  some 
filling  added.  My  conviction  of  the  want  of  such  a  view 
just  now  has  induced  me  to  send  it  on  to  Hartford,  where  it 
is  setting  up  for  the  press.  You  will  see  it  in  due  time,  and 
I  guess  will  not  be  displeased  by  it.  If  you  are,  why,  then  I 
will  secede. 

December  15, 1860. 

These  are  fearful  times  for  our  country,  but  I  begin  to 
think  that  I  see  streaks  of  light, — mere  streaks,  of  course. 
How  dreadfully  is  it  shown  that  slavery  is  barbarism  !  The 
amazing  thing  is,  that  there  can  be  such  a  tempest  raised,  with 
so  little  perception  or  counsel,  or  decent  show  of  character, 
saying  nothing  of  statesmanship.  I  sometimes  think  that  in 
"precipitating  the  matter,"  as  they  talk,  they  are  going  to 
precipitate  slavery  itself  into  the  gulf  of  utter  annihilation. 
Still,  it  is  dreadfully  mortifying  to  our  American  feeling,  a 
sad  blow  on  our  great  example.  But  if  the  blow  blots  out 
blackness,  it  will  only  brighten  us  out  again. 


THE   STATE  OF  THE   COUNTRY.  44:3 

Clifton  Sjj rings,  January  5, 1861. 

My  ever  dear  Daughter, — I  have  just  written  "  1860," 
and  rubbed  it  out,  replacing  the  cipher,  as  you  will  see,  by 
a  1.  This  is  my  iirst  1801  letter,  and  the  year  has  stolen  in 
so  silently,  signalized  by  so  few  duties  and  responsibilities, 
that  it  has  scarcely  started  me  into  attention.  Well,  1861 — 
it  comes,  and  will  go ;  and  who  goes  with  it,  or  before  it,  we 
have  not  the  power  to  say  or  to  guess.  I  have  no  present 
expectation  of  being  called  home  very  soon,  as  I  had  a  few 
years  ago ;  but  I  have  to  bear,  what  is  a  good  deal  more  op- 
pressive, a  kind  of  increasing  doubt  as  to  the  prospect  of  be- 
ing in  force  for  any  such  work  or  engagement  as  would  make 
my  life  a  matter  of  life  or  positive  enjoyment.  I  do  not  en- 
tirely give  over,  I  keep  on  trying  and  hoping,  but  victory 
does  not  come  as  yet. 

"We  had  yesterday  Buchanan's  fast,  which  we  kept  by  a 
service  of  talk  and  prayer  in  the  morning  and  evening.  I 
led  in  the  morning,  and  did  all  the  talk,  reading  the  story  of 
the  secession  of  Israel,  1  Kings  xi.  and  xii.,  for  the  topic ; 
and  then  in  the  evening  I  did  all  the  talk  but  a  few  words 
again,  making  our  sins,  especially  our  co-slavery  sins,  the  first 
topic,  and  the  true  economy  of  fasting,  especially  public  fast- 
ing, the  second. 

These  are  really  sad  times  for  our  poor  country,  such  as  I 
never  expected  my  children  to  see.  And  yet  I  am  by  no 
means  unhopeful.  I  fear  the  worst,  but  really  expect  to  see 
the  best, — viz.,  to  see  it  proved  that  our  government  is  only 
made  stronger  and  more  consolidated  by  it,  and  also  that 
slavery  itself  is  greatly  moderated  and  w^eakened  by  the 
dreadful  schooling  of  experience.  I  really  pity,  and  from  the 
bottom  of  my  heart,  those  wretched  slave -holding  sections 
of  the  countr3^  Between  so  many  fears,  so  much  pride  and 
poverty  and  jealousy,  so  many  wild  tempers  and  so  many  ap- 
palling weaknesses,  it  must  be,  just  now,  next  thing  to  a  hell 
upon  earth  to  be  in  their  lot. 

I  am  sorry,  dear  child,  to  hear  j'ou  say  that  you  do  not  get 
life  from  the  Bible.  My  own  experience  is  that  the  Bible  is 
dull  when  I  am  dull ;  and  that  when  I  am  really  alive,  and 


444  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

set  in  upon  the  text  with  a  tidal  pressure  of  living  affinities, 
it  opens,  multiplies  discoveries  and  reveals  depths  even  fast- 
er than  I  can  note  them.  The  worldly  spirit,  in  some  form 
of  indifferentism,  shuts  the  Bible ;  the  Spirit  of  God  makes 
it  a  fire,  flaming  out  all  meanings  and  most  glorious  truths. 
Great  love  to  you  all.  God  bless  your  Sunday  nights,  and 
set  our  hymns  all  singing  in  your  feeling. 

Your  father,  H.  B. 

Clifton  Springs,  January  21, 1861. 

My  evek  deae  Wife, — I  was  greatly  touched  by  your  letter 
this  morning,  partly  because  it  was  a  thing  to  work  thus,  and 
partly  because  I  was  in  a  state  to  be  worked.  I  think  it  is 
quite  clear  that  God  is  handling  us  for  some  good  purpose, 
and  I  pray  that  we  may  be  able  to  see  it.  What  his  design  is 
I  know  not,  but  I  have  a  conviction  that  he  is  preparing  us  to 
some  good.  Perhajjs  it  is  to  be  the  good  I  have  been  wish- 
ing and  praying  to  be  prepared  for.  He  certainly  could  not 
do  a  better  thing  for  me  personally,  and  probably  not,  as  far 
as  the  use  of  me  is  concerned,  for  his  own  cause.  My  last 
letter,  which  crossed  yours  on  the  way — I  think  the  two  must 
have  greeted  silently — will  tell,  or  has  told,  you  what  I  mean. 
Was  there  not  some  sentiment  of  this  same  thing  in  you  and 
your  letter  ? 

I  do  not  feel  specially  exercised  about  the  question  of  leav- 
ing here  just  now",  and  that  is  the  reason  of  what  you  seem 
to  be  referring  to, — the  reticence  of  my  habit.  You  may 
misunderstand  here  a  little.  Where  I  do  not  communicate 
and  refer  and  question,  it  is  never  because  I  want  to  hold  my 
own  counsel  and  have  my  own  way,  or  because  I  am  averse 
to  the  addition  of  your  wisdom  in  the  matter ;  but  it  is  be- 
cause I  am  taking  counsel  of  time,  referring  the  question  to 
the  going-on  power  of  times  and  causes.  Instead  of  working 
at  any  oracle  of  my  own,  I  let  time  chew  my  question  for 
me,  and  am  simply  looking  on.  This  habit  has  grown  out 
of  my  theologic  habit  of  referring  questions  I  cannot  answer 
to  the  same  arbitrament.  But  I  said  I  was  not  specially 
pressed  by  the  question   of  leaving  here,  partly  because  I 


STAGES  OF   RELIGIOUS  GROWTH.  44:5 

have  nowhere  to  go,  and  partly  because  I  do  not  feel  quite 
ready  to  leave  here.  I  am  taking  a  very  good  turn  now,  and 
am  w^anting  to  see  where  it  will  carry  me.  Perhaps  there  is 
a  divine  healing  for  mc  better  than  water,  though  not  oj^posite 
to  water,  which  will  finally  reach  the  body.  Stand  still  and 
see  the  salvation. 

To  his  Wife. 

Clifton  Springs,  January  29, 1861. 

...  I  think  I  am  doing  very  well,  and  feel  more  confident 
of  a  considerable  improvement  than  I  did.  I  have  good  ex- 
ercise and  diet,  and  just  now  a  very  agreeable  helper  in  the 
talk-world  of  religion — Dr.  James.  I  am  using  him  to  great 
advantage  in  ray  studies  and  thoughts  on  the  work  of  Christ. 
Things  now  are  getting  into  some  shape  in  this  great  field, 
w^here,  you  know,  I  have  been  toiling  after  shajye  for  these 
two  years.  I  mean  to  realize  my  original,  heaven -given 
thought  of  a  book  on  the  Vicarious  Sacrifice  for  Christian 
experience,  and  propose  to  make  it  possible  by  a  volume,  to 
precede,  on  the  doctrine  of  the  Sacrifice, — to  precede,  how- 
ever, not  in  time,  but  in  order,  and  to  be  published,  both,  as 
separate,  and  also  as  volumes  I,  and  II.  Call  the  one,  say, 
"Vicarious  Sacrifice  in  Christ;"  and  the  other,  "Vicarious 
Sacrifice  in  Believers,"  or  by  any  such-like  title. 

I  have  had  some  very  fresh  and  delightful  musings  of  the 
morning  on  this  last.  Following  out  the  theme  yesterday 
morning  for  two  hours  before  rising,  I  seemed  to  be  set  on 
by  another  great  stage  in  my  heart's  life.  I  never  saw  so 
distinctly  as  now  what  it  is  to  be  a  disciple,  or  what  the 
key-note  is  of  all  most  Christly  experience.  I  think,  too, 
that  I  have  made  my  last  discovery  in  this  mine.  First,  I 
was  led  along  into  initial  exiDcrience  of  God,  socially  and  by 
force  of  the  blind  religional  instinct  in  my  nature ;  second, 
I  was  advanced  into  the  clear  moral  light  of  Christ  aiid  of 
God,  as  related  to  the  principle  of  rectitude ;  next,  or  third,  I 
was  set  on  by  the  inward  personal  discovery  of  Christ,  and 
of  God  as  represented  in  him ;  now,  fourth,  I  lay  hold  of  and 
appropriate  the  general  culminating  fact  of  God's  vicarious 
character  in  goodness,  and  of  mine  to  be  accomplished  in 


tJ46  LIFE   OF   HORACE   BUSHNELL. 

Christ  as  a  follower.  My  next  stage  of  discovery  will  be 
when  I  drop  the  body  and  go  home,  to  be  with  Christ  in 
the  conscious,  openly  revealed  friendship  of  a  soul  whose  af- 
finities are  with  him.  God  help  me  in  this  expectation,  that 
it  may  be  fulfilled.  At  any  rate,  I  see  now  what  it  is  to 
be  a  Christian,  as  never  before,  and  that  in  such  a  light  as, 
I  am  sure,  is  hidden  from  too  many  of  his  followers.  Is  it 
wrong  to  feel  a  desire  of  a  renewed  lease  of  life,  that  I  may 
get  ripe  under  God's  teachings  in  this  way,  and  be  able  to 
add  some  light  to  the  very  partial  light  of  our  times  ?  .  .  . 

The  plan  for  his  book  here  indicated  is  not  the  less  note- 
worthy for  the  fact  that  it  was  replaced,  in  the  advance  of 
his  thought,  by  a  more  unified  and  comprehensive  one.  The 
book  was  published  in  one  volume,  with  the  title,  "  The  Vica- 
rious Sacrifice,  grounded  in  Principles  of  Universal  Obliga- 
tion." In  the  orderly  outline  of  the  stages  of  his  own  growth 
in  the  religious  life,  given  in  the  foregoing  letter,  we  have 
allusions,  first,  to  his  early  conversion  before  leaving  home ; 
second,  to  his  "dissolving  of  doubts"  while  a  college  tutor; 
third,  to  the  revelation  of  "  the  Gospel"  in  1848,  which  open- 
ed to  him  the  thought  of  "  God  in  Christ ;"  fourth,  to  his 
conception  of  sacrifice  and  forgiveness,  then  unfolding  and 
still  to  continue  to  unfold  its  greatnesses  to  him  as  long  as 
mortal  vision  lasted. 

Clifton  Springs,  February  30, 1861. 

My  dearest  Wife, — I  am  not  unaware  that  the  spirit  of 
sacrifice  comes  by  sacrifice,  and  not  without.  And  it  is  pre- 
cisely here  that  I  am  in  a  strait.  It  is  only  a  something 
that  I  see  the  truth  as  never,  but  not  the  thing.  It  has,  ac- 
cordingly, been  much  of  a  question  with  me, — and  I  had  long 
conversations  about  it  with  Dr.  James  before  he  left, — what 
the  true  Christly  spirit  requires  of  us. 

This,  at  any  rate,  is  clear,  that  I  am  getting  more  light,  and 
piercing  deeper  into  the  great  question  that  has  long  been 
engaging  ns.  And  I  hope  I  shall  be  as  much  enlarged  in 
spirit  as  I  ain  in  understanding.  It  will  be  delightful  to  me 
to  sit  down  with  you  and  talk  over  these  things,  as  we  have 


ABRAHAM   LINCOLN.  447 

both  these  and  many  others.  Tliesc  blessed  communings 
that  I  have  had  witli  you  for  so  many  years,  and  especially 
the  last  ten  or  fifteen,  come  across  me,  every  few  days,  like 
waves  in  the  memory,  and  my  soul  is  bathed  in  their  refresh- 
ment as  by  nothing  else  in  this  world.  I  count  just  these  to 
be  the  best  and  richest  gifts  of  good  that  God  has  bestowed 
upon  me,  next  to  the  gift  of  his  dear  Son  himself.  And  it 
ought  to  be  a  very  great  comfort  to  you  to  know  that  I  con- 
nect all  my  best  progress  in  truth  and  character  with  your 
instigations  thus  received.  I  have  some  hope  that  I  may 
have  helped  you  somewlmt  in  return,  though  in  a  different 
manner. 

We  are  drawing  on  now,  rapidly,  towards  our  decay-time, 
but  I  hope  we  have  yet  some  good  and  fruitful  impulse  to 
communicate;  though  it  is  with  a  kind  of  sad  feeling  that 
I  remember  the  necessary  flag  of  impulse  to  anything  new, 
and  the  burning  low  of  the  youth-fire  towards  the  necessary 
going-out  of  the  same.  It  is  here  that  I  lose  hope,  in  a  de- 
gree, of  becoming  as  much  better  as  I  want  to  be,  and  regret 
with  much  discouragement  and  misgiving  the  years  that  are 
past.  Alas  for  the  limitations  of  age,  and  the  diminished 
quantities  of  life  and  good  possibility !  .  .  . 

February  26, 1861. 
AVell,  it  seems  that  Lincoln  is  finally  safe  lodged  in  AVash- 
ington.  Perhaps  it  was  necessary  to  run  Baltimore  in  the 
night.  If  so,  he  is  not  to  be  blamed;  only,  the  figure  it 
makes  is  not  agreeable.  Probably  the  fault,  if  there  was 
any,  was  in  his  advisers.  Nevertheless,  it  is  really  something 
to  believe  that  we  have  an  honest  man  once  more  at  the 
helm.  Shall  we  not  have  a  chance  to  see  that  wisdom, 
weight,  and  even  the  highest  statesmanship,  are  in  a  simply 
honest  mind?  We  have  had  a  man  who  knew  how  to  figure 
in  all  high  society,  but  an  inveterate  huckster  in  the  art  of 
being  wise, — and  behold  what  a  fool !  Never  touching  the 
bottom  where  principle  is,  but  always  asking  what  will  pay, 
what  will  please,  what  will  or  Mali  not  be  popular,  will  or  will 
not  be  safe ;  and  behold  he  is  whiffed  about  by  every  wind, 


448  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSflNELL. 

timid,  inconstant,  a  man  to  blast  the  life  even  of  his  country. 

The  "  honest  man  "  coming  certainly  cannot  do  worse,  and  I 

have  a  considerable  faith  that  he  may  turn  out  one  of  the 

best  and  even  ablest  Presidents  we  have  had.     Alas !  how 

dreadfully  is  he  wanted  ! 

March  7, 1861. 

You  have  seen  with  me  that  we  are  finally  to  have  a  Presi- 
dent. It  is  really  a  comfort  that  we  have  a  man  to  lead  us, 
even  if  we  go  to  pieces.  We  shall,  at  least,  be  sure  that  not 
everything  is  omitted  that  ought  to  be  done.  What  a  load 
poor  Lincoln  has  upon  him !  If  any  man  ever  wanted  light 
and  strength  from  above,  it  is  he.  Good  people,  praying  peo- 
ple, ought  to  pray  for  him  now,  not  as  by  ceremony,  but  with 
a  meaning.     May  God  save  the  dear  country  ! 

L and  I  are  beginning  to  count  the  weeks  till  we  get 

back  to  our  dear  home  and  the  loved  circle.  This,  I  think,  is 
going  now  to  be  our  lot  from  this  time  forward, — a  stay  in 
old  Hartford,  and  no  more  experiments,  letting  the  clock  run 
down  as  it  will.  I  have  sometimes  thought  that  I  was  im- 
proving, but  just  now  have  my  doubts.  I  find  that,  when  I 
have  seemed  to  feel  improved,  it  takes  but  a  little  to  break 
me.  If  it  were  not  for  the  satisfaction  I  have  in  my  family, 
and  my  hope  that  I  may  be  able  yet  to  write  something  of 
consequence,  I  should  be  willing,  I  sometimes  think,  to  ad- 
journ. This  weary  drag  of  waiting,  do-nothing,  and  ennui 
is  getting  to  be  less  easily  supported  than  it  was,  physically, 
— I  hope  not  religiously.  I  could  even  make  a  luxury  of  it, 
if  I  could  use  my  mind  ;  but  the  waiting,  always  wind-bound, 
for  that,  takes  the  flesh  crosswise.  Still,  I  hope  I  may  have 
just  as  much  of  it  to  feel  as  I  need,  and  then  the  grace  to 

thank  God  for  it. 

Clifton  Springs,  March  21, 1861. 

My  ever  dear  Wife, — I  write  for  communion's  sake,  and 
not  because  there  is  anything  to  talk  about  outside  of  that. 
I  am  doing  better  again  now,  and  it  adds  quite  as  much  to 
my  satisfaction  that  I  am  all  the  while  getting  deeper  into 
the  great  subject  of  which  we  have  talked  so  much.  I  have 
let  out  twice  on  points  in  it  in  the  prayer-meeting  lately,  just 


GOING  HOME.  449 

because  they  came  up  and  I  could  not  hold,  and  the  interest 
excited  quite  surprised  me ;  and  I  am  going  next  Sunday 
evening  to  preach  on  the  "  Intercession  of  the  Holy  Spirit " 
in  this  strain.  The  sermon  was  written  days  ago,  and  cost 
me  nothing,  I  was  so  well  prepared  for  the  subject.  The 
Holy  Spirit  now  is  about  as  much  transformed  to  me  as 
Christ  himself;  truly  all  things  are  getting  new,  even  Gospel 
itself  among  them.  Oh  that  my  heart  could  be  opened  wide 
enough,  in  these  matters  of  the  love  of  God,  to  understand 
the  height,  and  length,  and  breadth,  and  depth,  and  all  that  so 
plainly  surpasses  knowledge.  I  don't  know  what  I  have  done 
that  God  should  bless  me  so,  in  giving  me  such  a  call,  and 
work,  and  subject,  and  leisure,  and  means,  at  the  closing  of 
my  days,  that  I  may  fill  up  my  measure. 

As  to  you,  my  dear  w^ife,  I  can't  think  that  God  has  let  any 
shadow  fall  on  you,  unless  it  is  the  shadow  of  a  great  rock. 
Eest  there  in  the  heat,  and  don't  forget  to  sing. 

Clifton  Springs,  April  1, 1861. 

My  dear  Wife, — I  thank  you  always,  you  know,  for  your 
lectures, — that  is,  when  I  can't  help  it.  But  you  must  have  a 
little  allowance  now  for  L 's  official  responsibility.  How- 
ever, I  have  been  passing  through  a  bad  cold,  to  justify  her,  and 
appear  to  be  coming  well  out  of  it,  to  justify  you.  I  preach- 
ed again  last  evening,  to  justify  myself.  Perhaps  I  have  been 
imprudent  a  little  in  preaching  two  new  sermons,  but  I  have 
discovered  such  a  hunger  prepared  for  just  the  things  God 
was  preparing  me  to  say,  and  making  me  hunger  to  say,  that 
I  could  not  hold  still.     I  hope  to  be  forgiven,  if  not  justified. 

I  shall  probably  be  with  you  some  time  in  this  month, — 
think  of  it,  this  month !  I  feel  a  kind  of  sad  interest  in  go- 
ing home  this  time,  as  it  bears  a  look  of  going  home  the  last 
time,  till  I  go  to  the  final  home  of  all.  The  experimenting 
seems  to  be  going  by,  and  the  sitting  down,  to  wind  up  all, 
appears  to  be  all  that  is  left  me. 

I  feel  a  great  satisfaction,  in  which  you  will  sympathize 
with  me,  in  the  fact  that  I  have  still  a  call ;  one  that  is  good 
enough  and  great  enough  to  content  me. 


450  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

Henceforth,  my  dear  wife,  we  are  like  to  be  much  together 
to  the  end  of  the  journey,  for  the  long  separations  apjjear  to 
be  over.  I  hope  we  shall  be  able  to  be  enriched,  and  com- 
forted, and  filled  with  each  other,  as  with  Christ,  and  make 
our  downhill  hand-in-hand,  with  great  peace  and  ever-helping 
sympathy.  We  have  much  to  be  thankful  for ;  let  the  rest 
be  thanks ;  and  if  there  be  anything  not  to  be  thankful  for, 
we  will  leave  that  behind.     With  great  love, 

Yours  ever,  Hokace  Bushnell. 

To  Mr.  Thomas  Winshij>. 

Clifton  Springs,  April  12, 1861. 

Dear  Brother  W , — It  is  really  good  to  hear  you  speak 

again,  and,  above  all,  to  testify,  as  you  do,  to  God's  faithful- 
ness in  the  helps  he  gives  you,  and  the  advances  he  allows 
you  to  make.  I  was  blessed  in  your  new  anodyne, — not  in 
the  use  of  it,  for  I  generally  can  sleep,  at  least  when  I  have 
not  been  doing  myself  wrong  in  over-exertion,  but  in  the  fact, 
thus  proved  to  you,  that  God  has  new  gifts,  or  special  or  pe- 
culiar gifts,  for  each  man's  wants.  Why  should  not  the  art 
of  sleep  be  made  a  Christian  attainment  as  well  as  anything 
else  ?  What  a  beauty  have  you  found  in  the  promise,  "  He 
givetli  his  beloved  sleep !"  And  he  has  not  done  giving  you 
good  things,  my  brother.  He  has  a  great  many  more  in  his 
treasury,  and  of  different  kinds.  I  expect  to  hear  that  you 
are  getting  hold  of  them,  and  being  always  enriched  by  them. 
It  seems  to  be  a  very  small  thing,  in  such  a  connection,  to 
speak  of  riches ;  and  yet  there  are  how  many,  even  of  those 
who  take  the  Christian  name,  who  cannot  understand  that 
you  are  a  rich  man,  and  sometimes  wonder  a  little  that  such 
an  industrious,  honest  man  as  you,  and  withal  so  much  of  a 
Christian,  is  yet  so  poorly  rewarded !  They  cannot  well  con- 
ceive you  as  being  the  best  rewarded,  richest,  fullest  of  all 
the  rich  people, — having  most  of  wealth  closest  to  your  heart, 
most  abundant  in  the  feeling.  Well,  God  be  thanked  that 
he  has  favors,  riches,  fulness  of  blessing  of  these  better  kinds 
to  give,  and  that  such  as  will  may  have  them. 

I  have   sometimes  seemed,  this  winter,  to   be  getting  a 


FINAL  EETURN  TO  HARTFOKD.  451 

Sirring,  and  I  certainly  have  been  let  into  some  wider  past- 
ures of  God's  truth.  Every  now  and  then  I  seem  to  get 
hold  of  Christ  and  his  work  at  some  deeper  point,  where  I 
am  let  farther  in ;  and  when  it  is  so,  I  seem  to  be  stronger 
and  better.  That  I  am  raised  and  blessed  in  feeling  is  a  mat- 
ter of  course.  But  I  should  hardly  dare  to  say  that  I  make 
all  the  jDrogress  which  I  seem  at  such  times  to  be  making. 

My  devil  is  a  devil  of  invention,  ingenuity,  discovery;  and 
perhaps  he  is  none  the  better  sort  of  devil  that  he  is  willing 
to  amuse  me  in  schemings  of  religion  or  religious  truth.  And 
yet  it  would  be  wrong,  I  think,  to  give  him  credit  for  some 
of  the  better  things  that  are  opened  to  me.  They  come,  I 
am  sure,  from  a  better  source,  and  I  must  render  the  due 
praise  to  their  author  by  a  tender  acknowledgment  of  Ilim 
and  his  goodness. 

I  am  sorry  to  hear  that  the  dear  church  is  not  as  much 
alive  as  it  should  be.  But  the  dark  days,  you  know,  are  the 
faith -times.  When  we  can  see,  it  is  easy  to  believe,  only 
there  is  no  faith  in  believing.  With  many  thanks  for  your 
letter,  I  am  yours  in  truth,  H.  B. 

And  now  the  day  of  experiments  was  indeed  over,  and  he 
came  back  to  settle  down  in  "  old  Hartford,"  but  by  no 
means  to  "a  w'eary  drag  of  waiting,  do-nothing,  and  ennuis 
The  busy  hours  which  closed  the  working  day  were  centred 
all  in  the  dear  home,  for  so  many  years  the  j)ole-star  to  which, 
in  all  his  wanderings,  his  compass  was  ever  turning.  It  is 
good  to  think  of  him  as  there,  and  to  recall  the  associations 
of  that  spot  as  clustering  about  his  figure,  the  life  and  mean- 
in  o-  of  them  all. 


452  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSIINELL. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

HOUSEHOLD  RECOLLECTIONS. 

Looking  back  upon  the  long  course  of  events,  now  linked 
in  the  chain  of  history,  a  throng  of  those  undefined  impres- 
sions, sliglit,  significant  facts  and  tender  recollections  -which 
belong  to  the  sacred  circle  of  home,  come  crowding  in,  claim- 
ing their  place  among  the  worthy  belongings  of  the  life.  I 
will  therefore,  without  ceremony,  make  way  for  them,  and, 
for  convenience'  sake,  drop  into  the  simpler  form  of  the  first 
person. 

The  memories  of  childhood,  however  rich  their  colors,  are 
so  shadowy  in  form  that  it  is  most  diflicult  to  reproduce  their 
images,  and  make  them  distinct  to  other  eyes.  I  might  as 
well  try  to  analyze  the  blue  sky  which  spanned  the  narrow 
horizon  of  the  home-garden,  as  to  attempt  to  resolve  into  its 
elements  the  overarching  fatherhood  which  sphered  my  child- 
ish days.  The  blue  dome  itself  seemed  to  my  thought  not 
more  comprehensive,  high  and  pure,  than  my  fatlier's  nature; 
and  I  looked  up  to  it  with  the  same  free  reverence,  and  with 
neither  more  nor  less  of  questioning  analysis.  But  there  are 
delightful  facts  which  remain,  and  may  be  given,  even  though 
they  lose,  in  the  telling,  that  rare  aroma  which  floats  about 
my  memory  of  them. 

First  among  my  recollections  of  my  father  are  the  daily, 
after-dinner  romps,  not  lasting  long,  but  most  vigorous  and 
hearty  at  the  moment.  N'o  summit  has  ever  seemed  so  com- 
manding as  his  shoulder,  where  we  rode  proudly,  though 
sometimes  carried  about  at  what  seemed  a  dangerous  pace. 
Thanksgiving-day  was  always  a  day  of  special  and  rare  frolic. 
After  the  sermon  had  been  given,  and  the  turkey  and  pump- 
kin-pie were  disposed  of,  father  and  children  joined  in  a 


PLAYFULNESS.  453 

unique  and  joyons  celebration,  whose  main  feature  was  the 
grand  dance,  in  the  course  of  which  my  father  would  occa- 
sionally electrify  the  children  by  taking  a  flying  leap  over 
their  heads.     Those  who  had  wrestled  with  the  knotty  heads 
of  the  morning's  discourse,  to  the  subsequent  detriment  of 
their  dinner,  would  have  been  amazed  could  they  have  seen 
the  joyful  antics  by  which  the  minister  promoted  digestion. 
The  frolic  sometimes  reached  a  mad  pitch,  but  in  it  my  fa- 
ther never  seemed  less  dignified  than  in  the  pulpit,  and  we 
always  realized  that  it  was  an  honor  to  have  him  play  with 
us.     A  playful  use  of  the  faculties  seemed  ever  to  present  its 
ideal  side  to  him,  and  it  was  thus  that  he  joined  with  his 
children  "  in  the  free  self-impulsion  of  play,  which  is  to  fore- 
shadow the  glorious  liberty  of  the  soul's  ripe  order  and  at- 
tainment in  good."    Thus  he  made  of  our  childhood  "  a  para- 
dise of  nature,  the  recollection  of  which  behind  us  might  im- 
age to  us  the  paradise  of  grace  before  us."     It  was  while 
watching  the  play  of  his  own  children  with  a  graceful  kitten 
that  he  conceived  the  idea  which  animates  his  Work  and 
Play ;  and  in  the  same  manner  he  drew  from  his  own  home 
experience  the  child-loving  chapter  on  "  Plays  and  Pastimes," 
in  his  Christian  Nurture.     Fun  was  one  element  of  his  play- 
fulness, constantly  bubbling  over  from  the  deep  spring  of  his 
most  earnest  thought,  sparkling  in  unexpected  places,  and 
ever  refreshing  the  long  and  dusty  stages  of  life's  journey. 
He  was  no  story-teller  or  professed  wit ;  but  the  droll  side  of 
a  subject  was  always  peeping  out  at  him,  and  he  let  it  flash 
from  his  speech  along  with  his  more  serious  conceptions,  as 
if  it  had  a  right  to  be  there.     Twenty  years  of  ill-health  did 
not  quench  this  light,  nor,  even  at  death's  door,  extinguish  it. 
In  one  thing  only  did  we  ever  find  him  unkind,  and  that 
was  in  his  treatment  of  our  dolls.     Such  was  his  respect  for 
human  nature,  even  "  in  its  ruins,"  that  he  could  not  bear 
to  have  its  dignity  insulted  by  anything   that   seemed  to 
him  like  an  effigy  or  caricature  of  humanity.     The  sight  of 
a  doll  or  a  monkey  was  abhorrent  to  him,  and  he  could  not 
restrain  his  expression  of  the  disgust  thus  awakened.     The 
organ-grinder  with  his  monkey  was  sure  to  be  ordered  ofi 


454:  LIFE   OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

peremptorily,  and  woe  to  the  doll  wliicli  lay  in  his  path !  It 
was  in  this  direction  only  that  he  impulsively  indulged  a 
purely  instinctive  feeling,  and  here  not  even  his  regret  for 
the  wounded  feelings  of  the  children  could  keep  him  within 
the  bounds  of  his  usual  considerateness. 

Summer  mornings  and  their  dewy  freshness  are  forever 
associated  with  him.  The  reveille  which  waked  us  from 
healthy  slumber  was  often  the  brisk  whetting  of  his  scythe. 
Many  a  time  have  I  risen,  to  watch  him  from  the  window,  as 
he  put  in  practice  still  his  early  theory  of  "  making  the  cross 
frictions  correct  each  other."  lie  swung  his  scythe  easily, 
cutting  rapidly  a  broad,  clean  swath.  Another  labor  which 
roused  us  to  matin  protests  was  his  favorite  pastime  of  cut- 
ting down  a  tree.  The  sharp  ring  of  the  axe  proved  him,  in- 
deed, no  bungler,  but  he  loved,  alas !  too  well,  its  mettlesome 
sound.  Before  its  ruthless  strokes  went  down  the  silver  pop- 
lar, because  it  sent  up  so  many  shoots  through  the  turf ;  the 
catalpa,  because  it  was  crooked  and  its  pods  disfigured  the 
ground ;  the  black  alder,  which  was  out  of  place  near  the 
front -door;  the  hawthorn,  the  tulip,  the  English  oak,  the 
N^orway  maple,  the  hemlock,  and  many  a  lusty  tree  beside. 
He  tried,  but  all  in  vain,  to  console  the  children  by  putting 
the  sundial  on  the  stump  of  the  last  victim.  There  were,  in- 
deed, too  many  trees  about  the  house.  He  had  planted  them 
all  himself,  but  their  growth  had  been  unexpectedly  rapid, 
and  the  axe  was  needed.  One,  a  straight  young  hickory,  and 
a  favorite  with  him,  was  long  spared,  though  too  near  the 
dwelling ;  and  among  our  earliest  recollections  is  that  of  his 
showing  us  how  the  swelling  of  "  the  papooses'  feet,"  as  the 
Indians  call  the  young  hickory  buds,  is,  according  to  their 
saying,  a  sign  that  spring  has  come.  That  Avas  the  season  of 
corn-planting,  and  all  the  delights  of  laying  out  the  garden, 
where  he  worked  most  industriously  on  spring  days,  as  well 
as  in  the  early  mornings  of  summer.  It  was  then  his  habit 
to  rise  very  early,  and  to  work  for  an  hour  or  two  in  his  gar- 
den before  breakfast,  barefooted  and  roughly  dressed.  "Work 
done,  he  took  a  heroic  shower-bath,  made  a  neat  toilet,  and 
appeared  in  the  shady  breakfast  -  room  with  smooth  locks 


FAMILY  PRAYERS  AND  MUSIC.  455 

(they  were  usually,  at  other  times,  the  reverse  of  smooth), 
and  with  a  cheerful,  composed  mien,  as  he  conducted  the 
family  prayers.     I  have  the  most  peaceful  and  sacred  recol- 
lections of  those  prayers  on  sunny  summer  mornings,  when 
all  was  still  and  clean  in  the  well-ordered  room,  and  no  sound 
broke  upon  the  praying  voice  but  the  songs  of  birds.     Some- 
times we  sung  at  family  prayers,  and  I  can  almost  hear  now 
the  deep  tones  of  the  bass  voice  in  Ileber  or  some  other  fa- 
vorite tune.     "  By  cool  Siloam's  shady  rill "  was  in  perfect 
harmony  with  the  early  coolness  of  a  June  morning ;  and  so 
was  another  of  his  favorites,  "  Oh  cease,  my  wandering  soul, 
on  restless  wing  to  roam."     "Blind  Bartimeus"  he  sung  to 
please  the  children.     And,  later  on,  what  a  resource  in  the 
family  was  his  sacred  music,  and  with  what  fervor  would  he 
join  his  strong  bass  to  his  daughter's  treble  in, "  Eise,  my  soul, 
and  stretch  thy  wings  ;"  or,  still  better,"  Who  is  he  that  comes 
from  Edom?"  with  the  tunes  to  which  Greatorex  has  set 
those  hymns  in  his  excellent  collection !     Xo  one  who  went 
to  church  at  the  "  Old  North  "  will  forget  how  often  he  gave 
out  "  Love  divine,  all  love  excelling,"  or  with  what  uncon- 
sciousness he  joined  heartily  in  the  singing  of  it.     But  he 
loved  music  of  all  kinds,  and  often  came  down  from  his 
study  to  table  with  the  question  on  his  lips, "  What  is  that 
new  air  you  have  been  singing  V  or  with  some  expression  of 
pleasure  at  a  good  selection.     Beethoven  was  his  favorite 
composer,  and,  in  the  grand  simplicity  of  that  great  master,- 
he  found  a  fit  refrain  for  his  deepest  thoughts.     In  his  writ- 
ings a  musical  ear  often  appears  in  the  harmony  and  rhythm 
of  a  sentence,  where   feeling,  strong  or  tender,  swayed  his 
pen. 

At  breakfast  the  daily  paper  became,  through  him,  the  epit- 
ome of  the  world  to  us  all.  He  was  not  one  of  those  ab- 
sorbed and  silent  readers  of  gossip  who,  after  an  hour  spent 
over  the  list  of  casualties  and  murders,  hand  you  the  paper 
with  a  yawn,  and  the  assurance  that  there  is  nothing  in  it. 
He  brought  to  the  reading  all  his  resources, — his  thought  on 
social  philosophy;  his  knowledge  of  geography,  chemistry, 
and  geology ;  his  love  of  adventure,  of  mechanics,  of  archi- 

30 


456  LIFE   OF  HORACE  BUSIINELL. 

tectnre,  and  of  engineering  in  its  various  brandies;  and 
throwing  liis  own  light  on  every  subject,  evolved  from  the 
daily  telegrams  a  fascinating  panoramic  view  of  the  world's 
life  for  the  past  twenty-four  hours.  Under  his  magic  insight 
the  most  commonplace  events  assumed  an  unlooked-for  mean- 
ing, and  took  their  place  in  relation  to  all  other  events  and 
histories.  He  had  no  unrelated  facts.  In  all  matters  per- 
taining to  our  national  welfare  his  patriotism  was  ever  on 
the  alert,  and  he  saw  on  the  horizon  "  the  cloud  no  bigger 
than  a  man's  hand,"  which  to  other  eyes  had  hardly  yet  be- 
gun to  threaten  storm. 

At  the  dinner-table  he  came  to  us  from  his  thought-world, 
from  the  writing  of  sermons  or  books;  and  then  he  was  no 
more  of  the  outward,  but  of  the  subjective  and  inward  life. 
Then  his  every  hair  stood  on  end,  electric  with  thought ;  his 
eyes  had  a  fixed  and  absent  look,  and  he  forgot  the  name  of  a 
potato.  His  mind  being  far  away,  the  present  body  fed  it- 
self hastily,  and  with  little  note  of  food  or  drink.  It  was  no 
wonder  that  he  experienced  tlie  horrors  of  dyspepsia.  But 
for  the  enforced  exercise  of  the  afternoon,  he  would  have 
been  earlier  the  victim  of  untimely  brain-work. 

Never  was  there  such  a  companion  for  a  walk  or  a  drive, 
though  he  was  a  very  careless  driver.  He  saw  twice  as  much 
as  most  people  do  out-of-doors,  took  a  mental  survey  of  all 
land  surfaces,  and  kept  in  his  head  a  complete  map  of  the 
physical  geography  of  every  place  with  which  he  was  ac- 
quainted. He  knew  the  leaf  and  bark  of  every  tree  and 
shrub  that  grows  in  New  England;  estimated  the  water- 
power  of  every  stream  he  crossed  ;  knew  where  all  the  springs 
were,  and  how  they  could  be  made  available;  engineered 
roads  and  railroads ;  laid  out,  in  imagination,  parks,  cemeter- 
ies, and  private  places  ;  noted  the  laying  of  every  bit  of  stone 
wall,  and  the  gait  of  every  horse ;  buildings,  machinery,  the 
natural  formations  of  geology, — nothing  escaped  him.  And 
the  charm  of  it  was,  that  whether  he  was  planning  some  im- 
provement or  observing  some  natural  beauty,  it  was  all  done 
easily, while  he  cut  a  cane  from  a  roadside  thicket,  or  brushed 
the  flies  from  his  horse. 


A  DEFECTIVE   MEMORY.  457 

In  tke  parental  relation,  he  was,  without  effort  or  self-asser- 
tion, possessed  of  an  unbounded  influence.  Always  amiable 
and  gentle  at  home,  he  rarely  reproved,  and  gave  few  com- 
mands. I  think  I  can  still  count  on  the  fingers  of  one  hand 
every  occasion  on  which  I  received  from  him  a  real  repri- 
mand. Then  every  word  told, — for  words  were  few, — and 
brought  a  burning  shame  for  the  wrong.  It  was  not  the 
voice  of  his  personal  authority,  but  Eight  and  Truth  incar- 
nate, which  spoke  through  him,  and  spoke  always  to  a  con- 
victed conscience.  I  cannot  now  recall  a  single  harsh  or 
unkind  deed  of  his  at  home,  unless  I  except  the  above-men- 
tioned cruelty  to  our  dolls.  He  was  singularly  obliging  and 
considerate,  and  never  called  any  one  to  wait  upon  him,  pre- 
ferring for  himself  and  his  children  a  habit  of  personal  inde- 
pendence and  self-help.  Even  after  he  had  been  many  years 
an  invalid,  he  would  not  allow  any  one  to  carry  up  the  wood 
for  his  study  fire,  and  would  arrive  at  the  top  of  the  second 
flight  of  stairs  with  his  armful,  panting,  but  still  rejoicing  in 
his  victory  over  nature.  He  encouraged  his  little  girls  to 
help  him  in  many  a  piece  of  domestic  work,  such  as  raking 
up  the  door-yard,  or  piling  wood  in  the  cellar;  and  if  he 
was  overlooking  our  good  old  AYilliam,  would  generally  do 
rather  more  than  half  the  work,  finding  that  easier  than  to 
show  some  one  else  how  to  do  it.  "William,  that  isn't 
straight."  "  And  please,  sir,  I  don't  know  what  is  straight." 
And  then,  rather  than  try  to  make  a  geometrical  definition  of 
a  straight  line  clear  to  William's  willing  but  somewhat  dark- 
ened understanding,  the  master  would  seize  the  spade  and 
make  the  straight  line  himself. 

It  must  be  allowed  that  his  memory  was  of  the  poorest. 
Not  only  did  the  willingly  taken  orders  for  the  butcher  or 
grocer  occasionally  slip  out  of  mind  among  so  many  more 
worthy  thoughts,  and  letters,  considered  at  home  of  vital  im- 
portance, tarry  for  days,  unmailed,  in  his  pockets ;  but  he  was 
liable  to  yet  more  inconvenient  lapses  of  memory  concerning 
sermons,  and  handkerchiefs,  and  notices  on  Sunday  mornings. 
More  than  once  has  he  been  forced  to  descend  from  the  pul- 
pit to  borrow  a  handkerchief  at  his  family  pew,  or  to  send 


458  LIFE   OF   HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

home  a  reluctant  child  for  the  missing  sermon.  On  «tne  oc- 
casion he  did  not  discover  that  he  was  minus  a  sermon,  un- 
til tlie  service  had  already  reached  the  stage  of  the  second 
hymn.  He  brought  me  the  door-key,  and  told  me  to  make 
all  haste  to  bring  the  missing  document  from  liis  study-table. 
It  was  a  warm  July  afternoon.  Heated  already  by  burning 
blushes  as  I  stole  down  the  aisle,  I  sped  on  the  wings  of  the 
wind  from  the  church  door,  and  found,  to  my  great  surprise 
and  relief,  the  right  sermon  in  the  right  place.  With  it  I 
tore  back  again  to  church,  and  might  perhaps  have  run  up 
the  pulpit  stair  with  it,  driven  by  the  fear  that  I  was  too  late, 
had  not  a  kind  gentleman,  dubiously  waiting  at  the  door  for 
results  of  my  mission,  relieved  me  of  it  and  given  me  time  to 
take  breath.  Thus  it  came  to  be  the  fashion  to  inquire  every 
Sunday,  before  starting  for  church,  whether  the  sermon  and 
handkerchief  were  safe,  and  our  good  father,  conscious  of  his 
shortcomings,  submitted  with  meekness  to  be  thus  catechised 
by  his  children.  We  had  also  a  comical  feeling  of  responsi- 
bility for  the  length  of  his  sermons,  and  trembled  when  Dr. 

C ,  in  the  front  pew,  loudly  clicking  his  oft -consulted 

watch  on  the  stroke  of  twelve,  settled  himself  for  a  comfort- 
able nap. 

When  listening  to  his  preaching  as  a  child,  I  naturally 
thought  more  of  him  and  of  how  he  looked,  than  of  what  he 
said.  I  could  not  better  suggest  a  picture  of  him  than  by 
words  of  his  own,  which  he  applied  to  anotlier: — "His  brow 
hangs  heavy  over  his  desk,  and  the  glow  of  his  majestic  face 
and  the  clear  lustre  of  his  meditative  eye  reveal  the  mighty 
soul  discoursing  wnth  the  inward  oracle."  When  kindled  by 
a  strong  thought,  his  whole  face  glowed  with  a  spiritual 
beauty  ;  and  sometimes,  in  moments  of  deep  feeling,  the  tears 
Avould  spring  unbidden  to  his  eyes,  and  brim  over,  as  from  a 
child's  eyes,  with  a  beautiful  unconsciousness.  How  well  I 
remember  that  nervous  swing  of  the  right  arm,  which  set  an 
exclamation -point  to  an  important  sentence!  It  expressed 
will,  ardor,  insistence,  impulse, — all  in  one  motion.  He  car- 
ried a  truth  home  by  the  momentum  he  gave  it.  His  voice 
was  naturally  a  good  and  strong  one,  but  he  never  learned  to 


A  LITTLE  EXCURSION.  459 

manage  it  well,  straining  it  sometimes,  not  by  loudness  but 
by  emphasis,  and  doubtless  laying  thus  the  foundation  of 
bronchial  trouble.  I  think  that,  in  my  childhood,  I  can  re- 
member his  subdividing  his  sermons  more  than  he  did  later, 
and  giving  them  a  more  formal  shape.  A  little  boy  once 
complained  to  me, — a  little  girl, — "Your  father  said  'Sixth- 
ly,' and  then  he  went  back  and  said  '  Secondly.' "  This  was 
indeed  a  grievous  ground  of  complaint  to  a  child  who  was 
impatiently  waiting  to  hear  "  Seventhly  and  lastly." 

I  recall  with  rare  pleasure  a  little  excursion  on  which  we 
children  were  once  taken  by  my  father  at  a  time  when  my 
mother  was  absent  from  home.     He  said  one  morning,  be- 
fore breakfast,  with  the  air  of  a  school-boy  out  of  school  for 
a  holiday,  "  Now,  children,  we  are  going  on  a  picnic  to  Bol- 
ton.    The  train  starts  in  about  half  an  hour.     Get  ready." 
A  hastily   swallowed   breakfast,  a  hastily   seized  basket  of 
cookies  for  luncheon,  a  rush  to  the  cars,  and  we  were  off.     It 
was  a  glorious  summer  day.     We  had  never  been  in  that 
direction  before.     We  looked  for,  and  found,  elysium  on  Bol- 
ton Mountain.     We  spent  the   day  there,  scrambling  over 
rocky  ledges,  and  browsing  on  huckleberries.     We  had  no 
cup  to  drink  from,  and  nothing  to  eat  but  our  cookies  and 
the  fresh  berries ;  but  all  was  sunshine  and  pure  delight.     I 
dimly  recall  an  hour  of  dreamy  rest  at  noon  upon  the  hill- 
top, when  my  father's  thoughts  absorbed  him  for  a  time,  and 
all  was  peaceful  stillness.    Wishing,  later,  to  descend  the  steep 
eastern  slope  of  the  mountain,  he  took  the  youngest  upon  his" 
back,  and  plunged  headlong  through  the  underbrush,  singing 
joyfully,  as  did  the  two  who  followed.     We  also  explored 
the  deep  Notch  through  which  a  railroad-cutting  had  recently 
been  made,  and  which  was  probably  the  objective  point  of 
the  day  to  him.      According  to  his  ideas,  the  railroad  had 
been   laid   out  on   a  mistaken  plan  and  the  expensive  cut 
through  Bolton  Notch  was  unnecessary.     I  believe  he  took 
the  trouble  to  expound  his  ideas  on  that  subject  to  his  chil- 
dren, who  were  willing  if  not  understanding  hearers.     We 
returned  home,  tired  but  jubilant,  after  a  day  of  perfect,  un- 
broken enjoyment. 


460  LIFE   OF   HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

In  this  connection  I  am  reminded  of  tlie  out-door  life  we 
sometimes  led  with  him  on  the  shores  of  tlie  Xew  Preston 
Lake,  where  he  was  fond  of  spending  his  summer  vacations, 
and  of  reviving  in  declining  years  the  pleasant  memories  of 
boyhood.  He  usually  drove  there  from  Hartford — forty-five 
miles — in  one  day,  over  the  rough  hills  of  Litchfield  Count}^, 
starting  in  the  very  early  morning,  and  stopping  for  a  noon- 
ing by  the  way-side.  I  have  often  heard  my  mother  speak 
with  great  pleasure  of  these  journeys  through  a  beautiful 
region  of  country,  and  of  the  charming  little  lunches,  season- 
ed with  intimate  talk,  by  some  sparkling  brook.  On  one  oc- 
casion, when  accompanied  by  one  of  his  daughters,  and  while 
lunching  in  a  pretty  spot  near  the  road,  where  shade  and  a 
fine  spring  had  invited  them  to  rest,  they  were  roused  by 
the  rattle  of  the  Litchfield  coach,  loaded  inside  and  out  with 
passengers,  presumably  summer  boarders  taking  their  home- 
ward flight  to  the  city.  The  young  lady  of  the  dinner-party 
was  a  little  embarrassed  at  being  thus  surprised  by  the  city 
public.  Not  so  her  father,  who,  spying  an  acquaintance  on 
top  of  the  coach,  rose  and  enthusiastically  waved  the  drum- 
stick of  a  chicken,  shouting  his  friendly  salutations,  which 
were  heartily  returned  by  the  company  on  the  stage. 

Once  settled  comfortably  with  Deacon  Hopkins,  whose 
house  overlooks  the  lake  from  its  northern  shore,  we  began 
a  long  series  of  rides,  drives,  and  walks,  always  in  sight  of 
the  loveliest  scenery.  Horseback  rides  with  one  of  the  daugh- 
ters he  seemed  always  to  enjoy ;  and  we  compassed  the  lake 
many  times  on  these  excursions.  Once,  when  I  was  riding 
with  him  on  a  rough  mountain  road,  we  met  an  old  man  in 
a  wagon.  My  father  hailed  him  by  name,  and  meeting  no 
recognition,  but  only  a  look  of  blank  inquiry,  said  simply, 
as  if  he  were  still  the  boy  whom  he  wished  to  recall,  "  Don't 
you  know  Horace  Bushnell  ?"  The  old  man  scanned  him 
slowly,  as  if  trying  to  reconstruct  the  boy  out  of  the  man, 
and  at  last  answ^ered,  with  a  quiet  simplicity,  like  to  that 
of  the  question,  "  Yes ;  are  you  Horace  V  This  answer 
pleased  my  father  greatly.  His  old  acquaintance  had  appar- 
ently never  heard  of  him  since  he  left  New  Preston  in  youth. 


VACATIONS  AT  NEW  PRESTON.  461 

and  yet  it  was  evident  that  tlie  recollection  of  the  boy  awoke 
a  cordial  and  kindly  feeling  in  the  old  man,  who,  but  for  the 
slippery  steepness  of  the  rocky  hill-side,  would  have  liked  to 
pause  for  a  little  friendly  gossip  over  old  times. 

For  several  summers'  iishing  upon  Lake  Waramaug,  the 
constant  companion,  nay,  the  chosen  comrade  of  Dr.  Bushnell, 
was  a  boy  of  twelve  to  fifteen  years,  the  son  of  an  old  friend 
whose  family  shared  the  house  with  us.  The  man  who  had 
grown  gray  in  thought  and  the  fresh  boy  seemed  to  recog- 
nize no  division  made  by  years.  They  were  both  boys  in 
their  sport,  both  men  and  equals  in  the  intimacy  of  their 
friendship.  In  broiling  sun  or  drizzling  rain,  they  fished  to- 
gether from  one  boat,  always  cheerful  and  contented  in  spite 
of  all  discomforts,  if  they  could  bring  home  a  good  string  of 
fish,  and  especially  exultant  when  a  large  bass  hung  from  the 
end  of  it.  This  fishing  was  a  daily  occupation,  the  serious 
pursuit  of  the  day,  however  they  might  dispose  of  the  rest 
of  tlieir  time.     They  were  never  tired  of  it  or  of  each  other. 

One  summer  it  became  a  custom  for  the  household  of 
friends  assembled  under  the  Deacon's  roof  to  spend  the  sun- 
set hour  of  Sunday  on  the  grass-plot  close  to  the  house,  in 
conversation  and  discussion  upon  religious  subjects.  That 
the  talk  might  not  be  too  rambling,  and  so  lose  point,  we 
took  up  the  practice  of  dropping  each  our  written  question 
into  my  father's  hat.  From  these  he  would  pick  out  a  few 
of  the  most  suggestive,  and  start  them  for  our  discussion. 
AVe  all  said  our  say, — and  very  comical  commentaries  they 
often  were, — leaving  the  final  words  to  him.  These  words 
were  few,  and  were  generally  meant,  not  to  settle  the  ques- 
tions, but  to  help  us  to  do  so,  if  that  were  possible,  or,  at 
least,  to  think  them  out  as  far  as  we  could.  The  wdiole 
household,  including  our  host,  the  Deacon,  and  his  family, 
took  part  in  these  talks,  and  enjoyed  them  heartily. 

One  autumn,  when  we  were  about  to  leave  New  Preston, 
jny  father  said  to  his  daughters, — "  You  may  never  be  here 
with  me  again,  and  I  want  to  take  you  to  my  old  home  and 
over  the  old  farm."  We  went,  and  saw  the  stalwart  maples 
before   the   door  of  the   homestead,  which  he  had  himself 


462  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

brought  down  as  saplings  from  the  mountain  upon  his  shoul- 
ders and  planted  there.  AVe  drank  of  the  delicious  cold 
spring  beneath  a  fine  tree,  where  he  used  sometimes  to  take 
his  nooning  when  at  farm -work,  snatching  perhaps  a  little 
time  for  study  as  a  seasoning  for  the  dinner-pail.  There  was 
his  boasted  piece  of  stone  wall,  proof  of  the  accuracy  of  his 
eye,  as  firm  now  as  when  he  laid  it  fifty  years  ago.  Each 
stone  fits  snugly  in  its  place,  the  corresponding  surfaces  hav- 
ing come  together  as  if  by  some  law  of  hidden  affinity.  It  is 
doubtful  if  he  was  ever  as  well  satisfied  with  any  of  his  writ- 
ings as  he  was  with  that  stone  wall.  There,  too,  in  the  same 
field,  if  I  mistake  not,  was  the  big  bowlder,  in  the  shadow  of 
which  he  had  once  prayed  in  youthful  doubt  and  distress, 
with,  perhaps,  some  unconscious  allusion  to  the  "  shadow  of  a 
great  rock  in  a  weary  land,"  and  whence,  even  in  boyhood, 
his  heart  had  exhaled  in  mist  at  sunrise  the  dew  of  its  heav- 
enward aspirations.  He  spoke  to  us,  as  often  before,  of  his 
good  and  wise  mother,  the  notable  housewife  and  care-taker, 
the  discreet  adviser  and  patient  manager  of  wayward  boy- 
hood. Yonder,  on  the  hill,  was  the  church, — the  meeting- 
house, rather, — whither  he  used  to  trudge  on  Sundays  at  his 
mother's  side,  to  listen  to  that  old-time  religious  teaching,  on 
whose  "hard  anvils  of  abstraction  the  blows  of  thought  must 
needs  be  ever  ringing."  There,  down  in  the  hollow,  was  the 
dam  which  he  built  for  his  father's  mill.  The  mill  is  long 
since  gone  to  ruin,  but  the  dam  remains  in  good  condition. 
Recollections  crowded  fast,  and  time  was  too  short  for  all  we 
would  have  liked  to  see.  We  were  on  our  homeward  way, 
and  I  believe  it  was  indeed  the  last  time  I  was  ever  there 
with  him. 

During  his  years  of  failing  health  he  always  owned  a  horse, 
and  many  and  great  were  the  family  excitements  attending 
the  sale  of  an  old  horse  or  the  purchase  of  a  new  one.  His  oc- 
casional long  absences  from  home  in  quest  of  health,  during 
which  he  could  not  afford  to  keep  a  horse  unused  at  home, 
made  these  changes  somewhat  frequent.  His  excessive  hon- 
esty was  certainly  not  good  policy  in  dealing  with  horse-men. 
If  his  old  horse  had  a  fault  or  two,  he  did  not  content  himself 


HIS  SYMPATHY   WITH   YOUNG   MEN.  463 

with  mentioning  it,  but  dwelt  upon  liis  failings  and  set  tlicm 
forth  in  all  lights,  till  he  had  left  the  unfortunate  animal  not 
a  leg  to  stand  upon.  He  once  sold  a  horse  to  a  good  friend, 
as  honest  as  himself,  who,  after  trying  old  Eobin  for  a  week 
or  two,  came  to  say  that  Dr.  Bushnell  had  not  asked  enough 
for  him,  and  generously  handed  over  another  hundred  dollars.* 
If,  on  the  other  hand,  my  father  was  about  to  buy  a  new 
horse,  his  easily  roused  enthusiasm  would  lead  him  to  speak 
so  heartily  in  praise  of  the  animal,  that  the  owner  would  at 
once  see  an  added  value  in  him,  and  fix  his  price  accordingly, 
No  experience  of  these  facts  availed  to  alter  my  father's 
course  at  the  next  opportunity ;  the  temptation  to  say  all  he 
thought  was  too  much  for  him  ;  nor  would  he  consent  to  lim- 
it his  freedom  of  speech  out  of  any  paltry  considerations  of 
policy.  It  was  the  same  with  horses  as  with  theology — he 
was  a  little  more  than  honest. 

One  amiable  peculiarity  of  his  was  his  ready  admiration 
for  very  young  men  of  his  own  profession.  No  matter  how 
slight  the  sapling,  he  saw  hope  in  the  growing  tree,  and  had 
his  encouragements  and  praise  always  ready.  During  his 
years  of  ill-health,  men  of  every  stamp,  young  and  old,  at 
various  times  supplied  his  pulpit  for  a  Sunday.  A  thorough- 
ly matured  man,  who  had  tested  all  his  powers,  and  perhaps 
elaborated  his  faith  into  a  system,  might  fairly  be  judged 
and  criticised  as  unfait  accompli.  If  his  belief  had  hardened 
into  dogma,  he  might  not  find  a  sympathetic  critic  in  the 
hearer  who  sat  behind  him  in  the  pulpit.  A  man  was  apt, 
moreover,  to  be  judged,  first  of  all,  by  his  legs  and  his  man- 
ner of  standing  on  them.  He  who  could  not  stand  straight 
and  square  upon  his  foundations,  or  who  wriggled  and  twist- 
ed a  body  supported  on  weak,  unsteady  columns,  found  lit- 
tle favor  in  my  father's  eyes.  But  youth  has  infinite  pos- 
sibilities, and  his  imagination  revelled  in  the  possible  great- 
ness to  be  evolved  from  its  chaos.  At  least,  it  was  in  this 
way  only  that  we  could  account  for  his  estimate  of  many 

*  Robin  outlived  both   of  his  fond  masters,  and  departed  this  life, 
through  an  accident,  in  the  summer  of  1877,  aged  twenty-nine  years. 


464  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

young  ministers.  The  most  recent  graduate  of  the  divinity 
school,  still  floundering  in  things  too  deep  for  him,  accept- 
ing and  offering  as  equivalents  for  ideas  the  terminology  of 
the  schools,  and  struggling  somehow  to  get  expressed  the 
thoughts  he  had  but  half  thought,  found  in  him  a  patient 
hearer  and  indulgent  critic.  AVe  used  to  say  that  he  was 
wont  to  attribute  to  the  young  speaker  the  thoughts  which 
he  had  himself  had  leisure  to  think  out  during  the  service. 
Sometimes  in  his  closing  prayer  he  would,  in  a  few  living 
words,  throw  open  and  light  up  the  subject  with  which 
his  young  friend  had  been  skirmishing  all  the  morning,  and 
send  home  its  truth  and  power  to  the  heart  of  every  worship- 
per. Then  he  would  go  home,  kindled  by  the  glow  of  his 
own  thought,  and  believe  that  it  was  the  3'outli  who  had 
laid  a  coal  upon  the  altar.  In  the  case  of  young  preachers 
of  genuine  promise  there  were  no  bounds  to  the  generous 
sympathy  with  which  he  welcomed  them  to  his  own  field  of 
labor.  Many  of  them  have  remembered  this  with  grateful 
appreciation.  At  the  same  time,  he  had  perhaps  too  little 
regard  for  the  supersensitiveness  of  morbid  youth.  He  liked 
a  sensibility  which  was  large  and  full -toned,  and  which  re- 
sponded with  harmonious  vibrations  to  the  touch  of  great  in- 
spirations. But  that  kind  of  sensibility  which  is  only  a  source 
of  irritable  suffering  to  the  subject,  he  might  pity,  but  could 
not  understand. 

Going  back  again  to  a  time  of  earlier  recollections,  we  can 
well  remember,  as  children,  the  period  of  controversy  and 
theological  combat  when  our  father  stood  almost  alone  in  his 
opinions,  and  was  the  object  of  attack  on  all  sides.  We  dim- 
ly discerned  that  this  wtis  the  heroic  age  in  his  history,  and 
watched  with  childish  awe  the  stages  of  the  drama.  The 
combat  had  doubtless  its  charms  for  him,  and  yet  we  could 
see  how  keenly  he  felt  the  hostility  of  old  allies,  and  that 
he  sustained  his  lonely  position  with  fortitude  but  not  with 
indifference.  Solitude  and  suspicious  avoidance  were  bitter 
to  his  social  soul.  I  distinctly  recall  the  solemn  day  when  he 
was  on  trial  before  his  own  Association  in  Hartford.  Two 
or  three  of  his  brother-ministers  dined  with  him  before  go- 


HIS   HOME-INFLUENCE.  465 

ino;  to  tlie  final  and  decisive  meeting;  of  the  afternoon.  All 
were  grave,  and  full  of  the  morning's  debate.  My  father 
wore  a  look  of  deep  emotion  and  anxiety  new  to  me.  He 
dreaded  the  ordeal  most  sensitively,  as  I,  a  little  child,  could 
read  on  that  usually  fearless  face.  And  he  was  fearless  and 
unflinching  still, — that  I  could  see  too, — but  none  the  less 
suffering  as  only  a  strong  man  can.  Did  not  our  childish 
hearts  beat  high  with  mingled  courage  and  dismay?  And 
yet  any  one,  even  a  child,  watching  him  that  day  might  have 
divined  that  his  generous  heart  and  unwavering  purpose 
would  ere  long  live  down  the  dreaded,  impending  evil.  He 
said  once,  referring  to  those  days,  that  he  was  never  tempted 
to  hate  but  one  man,  and  him  only  because  he  was  a  liar. 
He  never  spoke  bitterly  of  his  opponents,  but  he  had  no  con- 
scientious scruples  about  a  little  harmless  raillery. 

Of  my  father's  paternal  tenderness,  shown  daily  in  little 
ways,  and  sometimes,  in  rare  moments,  finding  exquisite  ex- 
pression, this  is  not  the  place  to  speak  openly.  It  may  be 
guessed  what  warmth  he  radiated,  if  we  recall  that  luminous 
revelation  of  himself  when  he  said,  "  It  is  the  strongest  want 
of  my  being,  to  love."  Nor  can  we  reveal  the  gentle,  father- 
ly counsels,  and  the  attractive  personal  religious  talks,  all  the 
more  prized  because  of  their  i-arity.  In  such  conversations 
it  was  always  the  winning,  never  the  compelling  side  of  re- 
ligious experience,  which  he  presented  to  us.  In  the  light 
of  such  sacred  revelations  of  himself,  the  life  which  he  had 
been  living  before  us  day  by  day,  year  after  year,  was  known 
by  us  to  have  its  source,  not  in  his  own  will  merely,  however 
high  and  fixed  its  purpose,  but  mainly  in  such  inspirations  as 
come  from  God  himself.  It  was  impossible  to  live  with  him 
and  not  recognize  the  freedom  and  spontaneity  of  his  action. 
Every  sacrifice  was  voluntary,  and  all  his  effort  resembled 
play.  And  although  this  was  more  easily  possible  in  a  nat- 
ure which  worked  with  the  ease  and  power  of  his,  yet  he  be- 
lieved, and  we  felt,  that  it  was  a  living  faith  which  made  and 
kept  him  free. 

There  is  one  incident  in  his  life,  to  me  most  profoundly 
and  exquisitely  significant,  of  which  he  has  left  his  own  rec- 


■iQQ  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

ord  in  his  book  on  the  Supernatural,  beginning  at  page  486. 
I  have  my  own  recollections  of  it,  which  have  recurred  to  me 
at  intervals  through  all  these  succeeding  years,  with  a  con- 
stantly deepening  impression  of  reverence.  The  circumstance 
was  this :  An  old  colored  man,  once  a  slave,  whose  face  and 
attenuated  figure  have  long  been  familiar  in  the  lower  streets 
of  Hartford,  and  who  had  been  for  some  time  known  to 
friends  of  ours  as  a  man  of  somewhat  remarkable  religious 
experiences,  called  one  day  to  see  my  father,  and,  learning 
that  he  was  out,  requested  to  be  allowed  to  wait  for  him,  as 
he  had  brought  him  "  a  message  from  the  Lord."  He  was, 
of  course,  admitted,  and  I  sat  down  with  my  mother  to  listen 
to  his  talk,  having  a  young  girl's  sceptical  curiosity  about 
him.  His  conversation  was  a  monologue,  and  related  mainly 
to  revelations  and  visions,  which  he  believed  to  have  been  di- 
vinely granted  to  himself.  He  told  us  of  seeing  in  his  dream 
the  ark  of  the  Lord,  and  of  how  "  a  trail  of  glory  kep'  a-wind- 
in'  out  of  it,  an'  a  band  ob  angels  was  all  about,  an'  de  angels 
kep'  a-cofnin'  up  an'  a  ketchin'  hole  ob  de  trail."  Regardless 
of  his  interpretation  of  the  vision, — for  it  had  one,  though  I 
have  now  forgotten  it, — I  rejected  it  all  as  "  the  stuff  which 
dreams  are  made  of,"  and  burned  with  silent  indignation 
when  at  last  the  old  man  intimated  that  the  message  of  the 
Lord  for  my  father  was  a  warning  that  he  should  disengage 
himself  from  the  Park  and  other  public  matters,  and  de- 
vote himself  altogether  to  work  more  distinctively  religious. 
Should  ignorance  and  superstition  guide  enlightened  genius, 
with  its  many-sided  gifts  ?  Would  the  Lord  send  such  a  mes- 
senger to  such  a  man  ?  Surely,  if  there  were  a  divine  mes- 
sage for  him,  it  would  be  whispered  in  the  depths  of  his  own 
Christian  consciousness.  How  would  my  father  receive  an 
emissary  of  such  pretensions  ?  Question  soon  and  beautiful- 
ly answered !  He  entered,  and  "  Old  Law  "  was  briefly  intro- 
duced, with  some  partial  explanation  of  his  errand.  There 
was  a  moment  for  observing  the  contrast  between  the  two 
men,  placed  by  nature  so  widely  apart  in  the  scale  of  being. 
The  old  African,  at  his  lean  height  of  dilapidation,  with  his 
narrow  skull  and  visionary  aspect,  had  yet  a  dignity  of  bear- 


A  SINGULAR  MESSENGER.  467 

ino-  which  expressed  his  sense  of  the  importance  of  his  er- 
rand. On  the  other  hand,  my  father's  clear-cut  featm-es, 
alive  with  all  the  vital  powers  of  a  trained  intellect,  were 
softened  now  by  an  expression  of  tender  deference, — of  gen- 
tle and  glad  readiness  to  hear.  With  his  equals,  his  greeting 
was  wont  to  be  one  of  quite  unceremonious  good-will ;  but 
he  received  this  humble  and  unaccredited  messenger  of  the 
Lord  with  a  most  gracious  courtesy.  So  might  Abraham 
have  welcomed  the  three  angels  as  he  sat  at  the  tent-door  in 
the  heat  of  the  day.  I  need  not  repeat,  since  my  father  has 
himself  told  the  story,  how  the  message  was  given.  In  his 
narrative  the  beauty  of  the  incident  is  found  in  the  lowly, 
heaven-sent  messenger,  but,  to  our  eyes,  a  higher  beauty  was 
revealed  in  the  humility  and  sweetness  with  which  he  was  re- 
ceived. Doubtless  my  father  recognized  the  ignorance  and 
the  visionary  character  which  would  have  made  the  old  man's 
individual  opinion  worthless.  But  no  matter !  The  voice  of 
God  might  speak  through  this  humble  soul, — nay,  seemed  to 
speak  in  the  eloquent  pleading  of  his  untaught  tongue, — and 
he  must  listen  and  "  prove  whether  it  be  indeed  of  God." 
And  this  was  not  merely  the  poetical  impulse  of  a  moment. 
The  hint  thus  strangely  given  was  worthy  of  his  most  serious 
thought.  He  weiglied  the  matter  carefully  before  his  own 
conscience,  and  made  up  his  mind  that  for  a  time,  while  he 
was  writing  upon  the  most  important  theme  which  had  ever 
opened  itself  to  him,  he  should  be  wise  to  abstain  from  all 
outside  work.  He  knew  that  his  work  for  the  Park  was  good 
work  for  him  to  do,  and  that  it  was  no  waste  or  misappropri- 
ation of  his  powers  to  devote  them  to  matters  of  the  public 
welfare.  But  the  Park  was  secured.  Other  men  might  fin- 
ish it,  and  just  now  he  felt  that  it  would  be  better  for  him 
to  yield  himself  entirely  to  the  inspiration  of  his  subject. 
He  had  the  self-control  to  do  so,  and  it  is  impossible  to  say 
how  much  of  the  strength  of  his  best  book  may  be  due  to 
this. 

And  while  I  am  speaking  of  that  book,  I  am  disposed  to 
say  here,  upon  my  individual  responsibility,  what  I  might  not 
elsewhere  have  the  right  to  say,  and  in  explanation  of  what 


468  LIFE   OF   HORACE   BUSHNELL.    " 

tlie  world  has  pronounced  to  be  the  weaknesses  of  its  four- 
teenth chapter,  on  "Miracles  and  Spiritual  Gifts  not  Discontin- 
ued," that  nothing  he  ever  did  required  the  courage  and  the 
self-conquest  which  it  cost  him  to  write  and  give  that  chapter 
to  the  world.  The  unfolding  of  his  great  subject  had  been  a 
willing  task,  in  which  his  intellect  had  worked  freely  to  its 
conclusions.  But  when  he  came  to  the  application  of  his 
idea,  he  found  certain  supposed  facts,  unimportant  and  pue- 
rile in  their  character,  except  as  they  were  related  to  his  sub- 
ject, thrust  upon  his  attention,  and  claiming,  with  their  own 
and  borrowed  voices,  their  logical  place  in  his  statement. 
That  the  world  would  call  them  insignificant  and  old  wom- 
en's tales,  was  nothing.  Must  he  accept  them  ?  Must  he  be- 
come the  champion  of  these  despised  and  rejected  facts  of 
faith?  Their  humble  origin,  and  the  indignities  which  men 
had  heaped  upon  them,  pleaded  for  them,  and  gave  them  un- 
due value  in  his  eyes.  Moreover,  he  felt  that  he  ought  to 
dare  to  apply  his  own  theories,  and  stand  by  the  results,  even 
in  extremis  ^  and  this,  though  it  was  obvious  that,  should  this 
application  fall,  it  would  by  no  means  carry  the  foundation 
principle  with  it.  And  so  he  consented  to  write  what  he 
must  have  known  would  be  despised  and  ridiculed  by  a  large 
part  of  the  reason  of  our  day ;  what  not  only  shallow  and 
worldly,  but  many  true  and  faithful  minds  would  be  prone  to 
reject.  It  required,  as  I  believe,  real  though  unrecognized 
heroism  to  do  it. 

But  when  all  is  said,  there  is  nothing  said  which  will  make 
his  image  live  again.  One  glimpse  of  his  figure,  as  he  walk- 
ed along  the  street  with  that  long  springy  step  of  his,  the  cane 
swinging  and  pointing  forward  decisively  as  he  went,  would 
be  worth  it  all.  Or,  if  that  were  too  slight  ground  for  an 
acquaintance  with  him,  the  door  of  friendship  even  might  be 
opened  by  a  gleam  of  that  penetrating  smile  which  ever  and 
anon  illumined  his  grave  face.  Better  still  it  would  be  to 
hear  him  talk  for  a  moment  in  terse  and  picturesque  phrase 
about  the  common  things  of  life,  a  new -coined  word  or  a 
sharply  fresh  suggestion  revealing  the  original  mind.  But 
it  was  in  family  life  that  he  shone  the  brightest.     It  is  true 


GREATEST   WHERE   BEST   KNOWN.  469 

that  those  who  live  under  the  shadow  of  a  mountain  can  see 
little  of  its  proportions,  but  surely  the  dwellers  on  the  moun- 
tain, who  feed  their  flocks  upon  its  pastures,  or  serve  as  guides 
to  its  summit,  have  a  practical  measurement  of  its  greatness 
such  as  no  distant  vision  can  give.  Let  it,  therefore,  be  no 
detraction  from  his  magnitude  that  ray  father  Avas  largest  and 
most  ideal  to  those  wdio  knew  him  in  the  nearness  of  family 
life  and  love.  It  is  they  who  know  most  of  his  zest,  his  en- 
thusiasm, his  inspirable  faculty,  of  the  wit  and  piquant  fla- 
vor of  his  language ;  of  the  lofty  and  refined  purity  of  his 
feelings'  and  his  habits,  and  his  delicate  considerateness  for 
those  who  wei*e  dear  to  liim ;  of  his  great  unexpressed  and 
inexpressible  tenderness ;  of  the  reasoning  faith  which  beheld 
the  unseen.  Well,  he  has  taken  them  all  with  him,  and  v.-e 
shall  never,  in  this  life,  know  them  any  more.  It  is  some- 
thing to  believe  that  they  eternally  live  and  grow. 


470  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 


CriAPTEE  XXIII. 

BY    Er)%VIN     P.    FARIiKR. 

MINISTRY  AT  LARGE. 

1861-1870. 

« 
Dr.  Buslinell's  Patriotinm  and  Hopefulness  during  the  War. — His  Ac- 
count of  its  Causes,  and  Interest  in  its  Details. — Tribute  to  Major 
Camp. — Vacations  at  New  Preston.— Writing  "The  Vicarious  Sacri- 
fice."— Publication  of  Two  Volumes. — Article  on  "Loyalty." — Letter 
of  Consolation. — Escape  from  a  Fatal  Accident. — "  Our  Obligations 
to  the  Dead." — Visit  to  the  Battle-fields.— Publication  of  "Vicarious 
Sacrifice." — Address  on  "Puljjit  Talent." — WorshijD  and  the  Diaco- 
xiate.  —  Letter  to  a  Metaphysician.  —  Published  Articles,  especially 
"Building  Eras."  —  The  Adirondacks.  —  Reminiscences  by  the  Kev, 
Joseph  H.  Twichell.  — "  Our  Gospel  a  Gift  to  the  Imagination." — 
"Woman  Suffrage."  — "  God's  Thoughts  fit  Bread  for  Children."  — 
Preaching. — Work  to  obtain  a  Site  for  the  State  Capitol. — His  Studies 
of  the  Outside  World. — His  Conversation  at  Meetings  of  Ministers. — 
The  Monday  Evening  Club. — ^Flashes  of  Wit.— His  Farewell  to  the 
Brethren  of  the  Association. 

'  In  simple  readiness  to  serve  the  dear  friends  who  have  this 
memoir  in  charge,  I  undertake,  at  their  request,  to  write  some 
account  of  Dr.  Buslmell's  life  in  those  later  years  when  it  was 
my  inestimable  privilege  to  be  included  in  the  circle  of  his 
most  intimate  ministerial  friends.  That  life  is  so  sacred  in 
my  memory  that  I  feel  more  like  singing  its  praises  than  tell- 
ing its  story.  And  yet,  could  its  story  be  adequately  told,  no 
better  method  of  singing  its  praises  could  be  devised.  Xo 
mere  report,  however  complete,  of  the  eloquent  words  that 
came  from  his  lips  and  from  his  pen,  could  tell  that  story. 
Underlying  all  its  vocal  music,  the  life  itself  flowed  on  in  a 
broad,  deep,  continuous  strain  of  manifold  ministration  and 
peaceful  holiness — a  song,  as  often  without  words  as  with 
them,  and  not  to  be  described  in  words. 


YEARS  OF  "BROKEN   INDUSTRY.'  471 

That  Christian  quality  of  life  which  makes  personal  influ- 
ence penetrating,  pervasive,  and  ennobling ;  personal  contact 
and  communion  cpiickening  and  invigorating ;  and  which  is 
ever  redolent  of  courage,  comfort,  and  hopefulness,  he  pos- 
sessed in  great  abundance.  One  of  the  most  remarkable 
things  concerning  him  was  that  unconscious  radiation  of 
character  which  he  was  wont  to  call  one's  "  personal  atmos- 
phere." So  distinctly  and  powerfully  was  this  felt  by  all 
who  came  within  its  reach,  that  in  reporting  his  death  to  a 
friend  abroad,  one  wrote,  "  You  will  not  And  Hartford  the 
same  city  on  your  return."  This  "personal  atmosphere"  of 
the  man,  so  sweet  and  wholesome,  no  language  can  describe ; 
and  yet,  without  some  inbreathing  of  it,  the  story  of  his  life 
must  be  a  lifeless  one. 

It  should  be  remembered  that,  having  been  released  from 
all  jDastoral  responsibilities,  the  course  of  his  life  was  there- 
after a  more  private  one,  with  only  occasional  public  appear- 
ances, and  therefore  less  marked  with  incidents  that  have  a 
public  interest.  Its  intercourses  were  also  thenceforth  pri- 
vate rather  than  professional,  and  more  restricted,  by  increas- 
ing physical  infirmities,  within  the  bounds  of  intimacy.  And 
yet,  so  far  from  being  unharnessed  and  turned  out  of  active 
service  into  the  leisure  of  an  idle  invalidism,  he  was  rather 
set  at  liberty  from  the  narrow  ways  and  downright  burdens 
of  a  local  pastorate,  to  enter  upon  what  he  called  "  a  minis- 
try at  large,"  wherein,  by  dint  of  unremitting  industries,  he 
wrought  some  of  the  greatest  and  most  enduring  works  of 
his  entire  lifetime. 

The  dedication  of  the  volume,  "  Christ  and  His  Salvation," 
to  his  friend  Joseph  Sampson,  Esq.,  of  JSTew  York,  will  ena- 
ble us  to  look  at  these  years  of  "broken  industry"  from  his 

own  point  of  view : 

Hartford,  June  10, 1864. 

My  deak  Friend, — When  resigning  my  pastorship,  five 
years  ago,  you  will  remember  that  you  put  it  before  me  to 
consider  myself  engaged  now  in  a  "  ministry  at  large,"  serv- 
ing in  it,  by  the  pen,  or  by  whatever  method,  according  to  the 
ability  left  me,  the  cause  we  both  have  made  our  own.     In 

31 


472  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSIINELL. 

this  modified  ministry,  I  have  had  the  sense  of  a  worthy  and 
sacred  charge  upon  me  still  as  before,  and  in  it,  as  I  have  oc- 
cupied, I  seem  also  to  have  prolonged  my  life.  This,  with 
another  volume  on  "  The  Yicarious  Sacrifice,"  which  is  ready 
in  due  time  to  follow,  are  the  principal  fruit  of  my  broken  in- 
dustry. Without  consent  obtained,  I  venture  to  connect  them 
with  your  name,  as  the  spontaneous  tribute  of  my  true  respect 
and  strong  personal  friendship.  Horace  Bushnell. 

There  are  many  still  living  who  can  distinctly  remember 
the  days  of  his  earlier  ministry  in  the  North  Church  of  Hart- 
ford, when  his  lithe  and  sinewy  frame  was  quick  with  energy, 
an  imperial  beauty  shone  in  his  face,  and  a  grand  physical 
presence  emphasized  his  eloquence.  But  to  those  who  knew 
him  only  id  these  later  years  of  sickness  and  infirmity,  the  at- 
tenuated frame  and  wasted  face  were  j)athetically  associated 
with  all  the  hard-fought  battles,  splendid  services,  precious 
triumphs,  and  merited  honors  of  former  years,  and  they  have 
invested  him  with  something  of  that,  veneration  with  which 
loving  disciples  regarded  "  Paul  the  aged  "  as  he  stood  before 
them  "bearing  in  his  body  the  marks  of  the  Lord  Jesus." 
They  have  seen  in  him  that  sweetness  and  gentleness  of  a 
fiery  spirit  which  only  the  ripening  and  mellowing  jDrocesses 
of  long  experience  in  the  Christian  service  could  have  devel- 
oped ;  graces  which  were  not  the  rich  colors  of  such  decay 
as  fading  leaves  wear,  or  setting  suns  lay  on  the  clouds,  but 
rather  like  the  "  golden  stain  of  time,"  whicli  gives  an  inde- 
scribable beauty  to  some  cathedraFs  massive  walls  and  glo- 
rious windows  which  formerly  were  only  strong  and  fair. 
They  have  seen  the  "  son  of  thunder  "  lying  in  Jesus'  bosom, 
as  the  beloved  disciple,  who  best  divined  the  Master's  secret 
and  spirit.  They  have  seen  him,  if  not  in  younger  moods  of 
strong  prophetic  frenzy,  yet  in  the  higher  states  of  a  calm 
and  apostolic  inspiration,  when  there  seemed  to  be  almost  a 
halo  about  his  snowy  head,  and  his  undimmed  eye  lightened 
with  strange  fire,  his  thin  face  became  as  if  transparent  to  a 
light  that  bnrnt  on  inward  altars,  and  he  spake  as  the  Spirit 
2:ave  him  utterance.     If  it  is  a  loss  not  to  have  known  him  in 


A  FIRST  MEETING  WITH  IIIM.  473 

the  days  of  liis  physical  bloom  and  vigor,  it  would  have  been 
a  greater  loss  not  to  have  known  him  in  the  later  days  of  his 
spiritual  strength  and  glory. 

It  was  in  the  spring  of  18G1,  Avhen  he  returned  home  from 
a  prolonged  residence  at  Clifton  Springs,  that  I  first  encoun- 
tered the  man  whose  books  I  had  read  with  avidity,  for  whose 
genius  I  had  conceived  an  admiration,  and  of  whose  personal 
appearance  I  had  formed  a  large,  fair,  benignant  image.  For 
fifteen  years  he  had  not  been  permitted  to  preach  in  the 
church  of  which  I  had  recently  become  the  pastor.  Desirous 
alike  of  terminating  the  disgrace  of  such"  an  exclusion  and  of 
opening  the  way  to  some  fellowship  with  a  man  so  great  and 
dear,  I  called  upon  him,  at  his  house,  to  invite  him  to  preach 
in  my  pulpit.  My  astonishment  at  his  appearance  was  ex- 
treme. Instead  of  that  large,  fair,  benign  figure  of  my  imag- 
ination, behold !  a  slight,  frail  man,  tapering  from  head  to 
foot,  whose  gray  hair  was  in  fine  disorder,  whose  luminous 
eyes  fairly  looked  one  through  from  under  their  shaggy 
brows,  whose  voice  found  utterance  in  short,  brusque,  pithy 
sentences,  and  whose  restive,  nervous  manners  jostled  all  the 
forms  of  conventional  politeness.  Not  even  his  gracious  sim- 
plicity and  cordiality  could  quite  recover  me  from  the  confu- 
sion of  the  moment ;  but  I  soon  retired,  having  received  his 
acceptance  of  my  invitation,  and  also  an  ineffaceable  impres- 
sion of  his  individuality.  The  next  Sunday  morning  he 
preached  and  prayed  in  the  South  Church,  and  the  praj'ing 
was  as  wonderful  as  the  preaching.  To  an  offer  of  assistance 
he  replied,  "  Take  the  service  up  to  the  prayer  before  the 
sermon.     I  prefer  to  whet  my  own  scythe." 

The  great  event  of  the  year  18G1  was  the  outbreaking  of 
the  war  of  rebellion.  Always  deeply  interested  in  political 
affairs,  and  especially  in  the  moral  aspects  of  them,  liis  con- 
cern in  the  acts  of  secession,  and  in  the  warlike  movements 
to  which  they  led,  was  intense.  His  esteem  of  President 
Lincoln  was  emphatically  pronounced ;  and  although,  in  the 
dark  days  that  ensued,  his  confidence  was  sorely  tried,  he 
maintained,  more  steadily  than  most,  his  faith  in  the  man 
whom  God  had  raised  up  for  the  salvation  of  the  country. 


4:74  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

In  a  letter  written  at  this  period  lie  said : — "  I  thank  God 
that  I  have  been  allowed  to  see  this  day.  I  would  do  it,  even 
if  we  should  be  sorely  beaten  at  first — nay,  to  the  end.  Bet- 
ter to  have  a  country  worthy  of  adversity  than  one  that  is 
subject  to  shame  and  just  contempt.  However,  I  do  not 
think  we  have  any  such- consolations  to  look  for.  We  must 
be  victorious  in  the  end." 

In  several  sermons  preached  and  published  during  the 
war,  Dr.  Bnshnell  gave  wise  and  cheering  counsel  in  days  of 
darkness  and  depression.  lie  detected  and  exposed  the  real 
causes  and  momentous  issues  of  the  struggle.  He  maintained 
that  while  slavery  was  proximately  responsible  for  the  out- 
break, the  deepest  root  of  rebellion  was  that  element  in  our 
political  order  which  attempted  to  found  and  maintain  a  gov- 
ernment without  moral  ideas  or  moral  authority.  Tlie  ser- 
mon which  he  preached  in  the  North  Church  just  after  the 
battle  of  Bull  Run,  was  largely  taken  up  with  showing  how, 
under  the  influence  of  the  Jeifersonian  political  philosophy, 
the  moral  ideas  that  constitute  the  only  real  basis  and  back- 
bone of  government  had  been  frittered  away,  until  at  length 
we  found  ourselves  in  nothing  better  than  a  copartnershij), 
without  national  authority  or  obligation.  The  spirit  of  loyal- 
ty had  inevitably  degenerated  into  a  mere  feeling  of  attach- 
ment. The  essentially  immoral  habit  of  slavery  accelerated 
this  degeneracy,  and  out  of  these  unhistoric  theories  and  the 
demoralization  they  wrought  the  doctrine  of  State -rights 
emerged,  in  readiness  to  undertake  any  enterprises  that 
should  gratify  pride  or  foster  local  interests. 

In  other  strains  he  taught  the  uses  of  adversity  and  sacri- 
fice. The  true  loyalty  is  never  reached  until  the  laws  and 
the  nation  are  made  to  appear  sacred.  Without  shedding  of 
blood  there  is  no  such  grace  prepared.  There  is  one  law  of 
political  and  of  spiritual  salvation.  "xVdversity  will  be  our 
strength,  and  disappointments  our  arguments.  Anything, 
that  we  may  have  a  nationality,  and  a  government,  and  a  true 
loyalty  burnt  into  the  hearts  of  our  children." 

But  his  interest  in  the  great  struggle  was  not  confined  to 
the  principles  and  issues  of  it.     He  not  only  watched  with 


HIS  SKETCH  OF   MAJOR  CAMP.  475 

anxiety  the  smallest  details  of  every  campaign  and  expedi- 
tion, but  forecasted  operations  in  the  field,  and  busied  himself 
with  all  manner  of  planning  and  providing,  here  and  there,  as 
if  burdened  with  a  personal  responsibility  for  the  conduct  of 
the  war  and  the  direction  of  armies.  His  enfjineerine;:  talent 
and  his  conscious  faculty  of  generalship  were  kept  in  contin- 
ual exercise  under  the  inspiration  of  a  patriotic  enthusiasm 
that  never  rested  nor  doubted. 

He  manifested  a  quick  interest  in  the  men  M'ho  gave  them- 
selves to  the  cause,  and  especially  in  the  young  men  whom  he 
knew,  watching  their  careers,  rejoicing  in  the  reports  of  their 
noble  deeds,  and  hallowing  the  names  and  memories  of  those 
who  fell  victims  in  the  sacrifice.  To  the  biographer  of  Major 
Henry  Camp,  of  Hartford,  he  sent,  as  a  contribution  to  the 
memoir,  the  following  letter  : — 

It  was  my  privilege  to  know  this  young  patriot  and  soldier 
from  his  childhood  up.  The  freshly  vigorous,  wonderfully 
lustrous,  unsoiled  look  he  bore  in  his  childhood,  made  it  con- 
sciously a  kind  of  pleasure  to  pass  him,  or  catch  the  sight  of 
his  face  in  the  street.  I  do  not  recall  ever  having  had  such 
an  impression,  or  one  so  captivating  for  its  moral  beauty, 
from  any  other  child.  And  it  was  just  as  great  a  satisfaction 
to  see  him  grow  as  it  was  to  see  him.  I  used  to  watch  the 
progress  of  his  lengthening  form  as  I  passed  him,  saying  in- 
wardly still,  "  Well,  thank  God,  it  is  the  beautiful  childhood 
that  is  growing,  and  not  he  that  is  outgrowing  his  child- 
hood." 

The  noble  man-soul  was  evident  enough  in  the  child,  and 
When  it  was  bodied  forth  in  his  tall,  massive,  especially  man- 
ly person,  it  was  scarcely  more  so.  Indeed,  the  real  man  of 
the  child  was  never  bodied  forth,  and  never  could  be,  without 
a  history  of  many  years,  such  as  we  fondly  hoped  for  him, 
but  shall  never  behold.  He  died,  in  fact,  with  his  high, 
bright  future  shut  up  in  him, — it  will  only  come  out  among 
the  angels  of  God,  and,  I  doubt  not,  will  make  a  really  grand 
tigure  there.  Seldom  have  they  hailed  the  advent  among 
them,  I  think,  of  a  youth  whose  kinship,  and  peership,  and 


476  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

hero-life  begun,  tliey  will  more  gladly  acknowledge.  Indeed, 
I  have  never  been  able  to  keep  it  out  of  my  mind,  since  I 
first  heard  of  his  death,  that  there  was  some  too  great  aptness 
in  him  for  a  place  among  these  couriers  and  squadrons  of 
glory.  It  seems  to  be  a  kind  of  extravagance  to  say  this,  but 
I  know  not  how  otherwise  to  describe  real  impressions.  He 
was  such  a  man  as,  going  into  a  crowd  of  strangers,  would 
not  only  attract  general  attention  by  his  person,  by  his  noble 
figure  and  the  fine  classic  cut  of  his  features,  by  the  cool, 
clear  beaming  of  his  intelligence,  by  the  visible  repose  of  his 
justice,  by  a  certain  almost  superlative  sweetness  of  modesty ; 
but  there  was,  above  all,  an  impression  of  intense  pukity  in 
his  looks  that  is  almost  never  seen  among  men,  and  which 
everybody  must  and  would  distinctly  feel. 

But  I  am  only  describing  here  what  others  felt  as  truly  as 
I,  and  could  describe,  if  tliey  would,  much  better  than  I ; 
though,  perhaps,  the  acquaintance  I  had  with  Henry's  interi- 
orly personal  character  and  struggles  in  the  matter  of  relig- 
ion ]nay  have  prepared  me  to  note,  more  distinctly  than  some 
others  would,  the  signs  outwardly  appearing.  He  came  to 
me  a  great  many  times,  from  his  early  childhood  onward,  to 
lay  open  his  troubles  and  obtain  spiritual  direction.  My  con- 
viction from  the  very  first  was,  that  I  had  nothing  to  do  with 
him  but  to  put  him  in  courage  and  enable  him  to  say  "  I  be- 
lieve." I  never  saw  him  when  I  did  not  think  he  was  a 
Christian,  and  I  do  not  believe  that  he  ever  saw  himself  early 
enough  to  properly  think  otherwise.  Still,  he  did  think  oth- 
erwise much  longer  than  I  wished.  The  difiiculty  was  to  get 
him  away  from  the  tyranny  of  his  conscience.  It  was  so 
delicate,  and  steadfast,  and  strong,  that  his  faith  could  not 
get  foothold  to  stand.  I  feared  many  times  that  he  was 
going  to  be  preyed  upon  all  his  life  long  by  a  morbid  con- 
science. Still,  there  was  a  manly  force  visible  even  in  his 
childhood ;  and  I  contiived,  in  what  ways  I  could,  to  get 
that  kindled  by  a  free  inspiration.  To  get  him  under  im- 
pulse afterwards  for  the  war,  was  not  half  as  difiicult,  I  pre- 
sume, after  the  point  of  my  endeavor  was  already  carried; 
for,  having  now  become  a  soldier  of  Christ  by  a  clear  and 


HOPEFULNESS  FOR  THE  COUNTRY.         477 

conscious  devotion,  lie  had  only  to  extend  that  soldiership 
for  the  kingdom  of  heaven's  sake. 

As  far  as  he  was  concerned,  the  kingdom  of  heaven  was 
not  worsted  when  he  fell ;  but  the  loss  to  his  country  and 
his  comrades  in  arms  was  certainly  great,  greater  than  most 
of  us  will  know.  Besides,  it  is  a  great  and  sore  disappoint- 
ment to  us  all  that  we  are  cut  off  abruptly  from  that  noble 
and  high  future  we  had  begun  to  hope  for  him.  Let  us  be- 
lieve that  he  can  have  as  high  a  future  where  he  is,  and  re- 
sign him  gladly  to  it. 

The  following  letters  will  discover  the  particular  work 
which  he  had  in  hand,  the  patriotic  interest  with  which  he 
watched  the  progress  of  the  war,  and  the  suj^reme  honor  in 
which  he  held  the  dear  work  of  his  own  chosen  calling : 

January  13,  1862. 
I  have  not  been  doing  well  of  late,  though  I  keep  on 
scratching  at  my  great  subject,  feeling  my  way  along  in  it, 
and  doing  it  everything,  I  fear,  but  what  I  want  to  do, — cer- 
tainly anything  but  justice.  [This  "subject"  was  the  work  on 
"Vicarious  Sacrifice."]  I  count  it  one  of  my  great  bonds  of 
gratitude  just  now,  that  I  can  be  hopeful  for  our  dear  coun- 
try, and  can  expect  to  live  long  enough  to  see  the  Grand  Re- 
bellion put  down.  I  have  all  along  felt  it  to  be  a  glorious 
thing  to  live  in  such  a  day,  and  I  feel  it  now,  more  and  more 
distinctly,  as  I  gather  confidence  in  the  hope  of  seeing  the 
day  well  over.  The  more  I  study  this  plan  of  our  young 
General,  the  more  do  I  see  of  magnificent  wisdom  in  the 
generalship  of  it.  True,  it  may  fail,  but  I  think  I  see  vic- 
tory in  it. 

It  seems  well  worthy  of  notice  in  this  letter  that  the  writer 
is  grateful  that  he  can  be  hopeful  for  his  country.  To  be 
hopeful  was  to  be  helpful  for  it.  As  a  matter  of  fact.  Dr. 
Bushnell's  steady,  unshaken  hopefulness,  all  through  the  dark 
and  trying  times  when  men's  hearts  were  failing  them  for 
fear,  was  a  positive  service  rendered  to  the  good  cause,  as 


478  LIFE   OF   HORACE   BUSHNELL. 

truly  as  if  he  Lad  been  doing  soldierly  duty  in  tlie  array. 
Men  took  conrage  from  him,  and  from  his  faith  learned  faith. 

June  19, 1863. 
As  my  old  pulpit  is  now  vacant,  I  am  trying  to  put  in  a 
sermon  a  week  there.  How  long  I  shall  stand  so  much,  I 
don't  know.  I  could  go  on  to  the  world's  end,  or  to  mine, 
for  there  is  nothing  I  so  much  delight  in  as  preaching.  I  am 
the  more  drawn  oat  in  or  after  it,  just  now,  that  I  have  a  set 
of  subjects  before  me  which  I  want  very  much  to  get  out  as 
a  volume.  After  all,  there  is  not  very  much  in  the  Bible, 
or  anywhere  else,  besides  Jesus  Christ.  "Would  that  1  knew 
him  more  perfectlj^ !  If  there  be  anything  now  that  makes 
my  life  worth  living,  it  is  the  consciousness  that  Christ  is 
being  opened  more  and  more  fnlly  to  me.  I  am  astonished 
sometimes  at  the  wondrous  depth  and  fertility  of  the  revela- 
tion. It  used,  many  years  ago,  to  cost  me  much  digging  to 
get  hold  of  anything  fresh  in  the  theme,  and  I  wondered  why 
so  much  should  be  said  of  the  riches  of  it.  ~Now  it  opens  it- 
self, without  digging,  fartlier  and  faster  than  I  can  sketch  it. 

The  vacancy  in  his  old  pulpit,  to  which  allusion  is  here 
made,  was  caused  by  the  resignation  of  the  Kev.  G.  I^.  Web- 
ber, who  had  been  pastor  of  that  cliurch  for  two  years.  Dur- 
ing the  summer  of  this  year  Dr.  Bushnell  went  for  rest  to 
Lake  Waramaug,  in  Warren,  which  adjoins  Kew  Preston,  the 
home  of  his  childhood.  The  beauty  of  its  situation,  the  salu- 
brity of  its  climate,  the  opportunities  for  angling,  of  which 
he  was  ever  fond,  and  its  associations  with  earlier  life,  com- 
bined to  make  an  attraction  for  him  stronger  than  was  else- 
where presented. 

He  was  at  home  again  in  the  autumn,  and  preached  the  an- 
nual Thanksgiving  sermon  in  his  old  church.  His  working 
hours  were  employed,  as  for  several  years  they  were,  with 
writing  the  "Vicarious  Sacrifice;"  and  in  what  a  glow  of 
spiritual  life  this  work  was  forged  appears  from  the  letter 
just  now  quoted.  He  was  writing  out  of  a  revelation  —  not 
digging  for  fresh  things  in  his  theme,  but  simply  striving  to 


CONSTANT  UNFOLDING  OF  HIS  THEME.  479 

catch  and  sketch  the  fresh  things  that  issued  from  an  unfold- 
ing and  unfailing  theme.  The  great  difficulty  in  his  way  was 
his  physical  infirmities,  and  the  limitations  of  intellectual  ac- 
tivity caused  thereby. 

In  December,  1S62,  he  wrote  to  Dr.  Bartol : — 

How  often  do  I  let  off  the  question  (internally),  "  Well, 
what  would  dear  Bartol  think  of  that  ?"  If  I  had  him  by, 
how  I  should  like  to  set  him  improvising !  Alas  !  the  poetry 
won't  come  when  I  try  to  imagine  it.  My  prose  machine 
only  creaks  when  it  tries  to  make  music.  I  am  trying  to  use 
the  said  machine  a  little  now,  in  my  dull  sphere.  The  great 
subject  wliicli  I  have  in  hand  occupies  me  still,  and  keeps 
growing,  so  that  I  am  obliged  to  recolor,  reconstruct,  and 
make  all  sorts  of  revisions.  Oh,  if  I  had  strength  to  let  on 
more  pressingly,  how  much  better  work  I  might  do ! 

What  a  grand  day  this  to  live  in,  if  only  one  had  force  to 
meet  the  calls  it  makes,  the  subjects  it  opens,  and,  above  all, 
to  face  the  perils  and  suffer  the  sufferings !  All  great  souls 
can  live  fast  now — never  so  fast  before. 

The  mood  of  playful  wisdom  which  was  so  frequent  in  Dr. 
Bushnell  finds  expression  in  a  letter  written  to  his  daughter, 
and  dated  January  5, 1863.  To  appreciate  one  allusion  in  the 
letter,  the  reader  should  bear  in  mind  that  she  had  gone  for  a 
visit  to  aW^estern  town  ambitiously  named  Constantino.  He 
writes : — 

One  great  benefit  ...  I  hope  you  will  get  out  of  this  new- 
world  country  life  for  the  winter,  viz.,  that  you  will  learn 
how  to  extort  enjoyments  and  pleasures  out  of  common 
places.  You  have  to  put  on  all  your  screws  of"  pressure,  and 
make  the  meagre  things  give  out  their  riches ; — on  the  weath- 
er, just  as  various  and  lively  in  a  dull  country  as  anywhere, 
whistling  to  keep  its  courage  up ;  on  the  trees,  stripping  na- 
ked and  stiffening  their  muscle  to  fight  the  winter  out ;  on 
the  stumps  of  the  stumpy  fields, — good  symbols  of  written 
history,  hiding  its  roots,  and  dead  and  gone  as  to  its  tops ;  on 


480  LIFE   OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

the  river,  meandering  most  where  it  has  the  dullest  motion 
— just  as  lazj  people  go  farthest  because  they  are  going  no- 
where ;  on  the  faces  of  the  old  women  you  meet,  considering 
just  what  lines  in  girlhood  cut  deeper  would  make  them;  on 
the  bows  of  the  swains — wasting  so  much  sweetness  on  the 
desert  air;  on  the  roughness  of  church  privilege, — proving 
religion  just  as  much  more  convincingly  as  it  is  loved  and 
lived  for  wdth  fewer  attractions ;  on  the  chickens,  pecking 
their  food  with  the  same  tool  they  iight  with,  just  as  silly 
mankind -bipeds  make  their  purveyings  and  economies  the 
same  thing  as  the  great  fight  of  life;  on  the  pigs'  tails,  spiral- 
ling in  the  curl  always  one  way — showing  one  more  evidence 
of  the  uniformity  of  law ;  or,  if  they  have  been  cut  off,  how 
the  lines  of  beauty  once  gone  can  never  be  restored :  finally, 
on  Constantine  itself,  considering  how  little  that  great  man 
conceived  the  honors  to  be  put  upon  his  name  in  covering 
such  a  field  of  study.  Thus,  when  things  look  dull  and  com- 
mon, put  extortion  upon  them,  as  mind  always  can  upon 
things,  and  make  them  give  up  the  brightness  and  fun  that 
are  in  them. 

Stir  up,  touch  off,  dramatize,  and  make  alive  everything. 
The  very  poverty  of  your  sights  and  conditions  will  thus  be- 
come your  riches.  There  is  even  a  landscape  in  a  quagmire, 
if  only  we  had  eyes  to  see  it.  And  it  is  a  great  thing  to  have 
eyes!  A  winter  spent  in  getting  eyes  will  be  worth  more 
than  all  the  hundred  eyes  of  Argus  filled  gratis  with  pretty 
sights. 

Meantime,  when  you  are  getting  up  resources  by  extortion, 
you  may  show  us  how  you  get  on,  just  as  much  as  you  please. 

...  A  great  many  things  I  could  add,  but  if  I  say.  Love 
God  and  keep  his  commandments,  I  shall  include  the  best  of 
them.  A  pure,  true  heart,  wedded  fast  to  God,  is  the  totality 
of  Good. 

During  the  winter  and  spring  of  1863,  in  addition  to  the 
labor  expended  upon  the  treatise  which  was  in  hand,  he  pre- 
pared two  volumes  for  the  press,  which  were  published  about 
a  year  later.     These  were  "Work  and  Play,"  and  the  book 


PUBLICATION  OF  TWO  BOOKS.  481 

of  sermons  entitled  "Christ  and  bis  Salvation."  He  was 
assisted  in  the  laborious  task  of  proof-reading  by  bis  wife 
and  daugliters.  Great  "councils  of  war"  were  held  in  tbe 
family.  He  would  vigorously  enougb  defend  himself  from 
their  criticisms  of  his  expressions,  but  almost  invariably  made 
the  changes  that  were  suggested.  He  would  listen  to  the 
criticism  of  a  child  if  it  was  intelligent,  and  bis  revisions  of 
bis  work  were  numerous  and  patient.  T]ie  peculiarities  of 
bis  style  were  never  tlie  result  of  negligence  or  baste,  for  be 
could  no  more  be  slack  than  slothful  in  bis  work.  In  tbe 
volume,  "  Christ  and  bis  Salvation,"  is  included  one  of  bis 
most  remarkable  sermons,  on  tbe  "  Insight  of  Love."  First 
written  in  1814,  it  was  remodelled  and  preacbed  in  February 
of  this  year,  and  has  been  read  by  thousands  with  tbe  same 
wonder  and  delight  with  which  it  was  then  beard  as  it  fell 
from  bis  lips.  One  takes  down  those  volumes  and,  after 
reading  awhile,  wonders  when  such  sermons  as  they  contain, 
sermons  whose  titles  are  more  suggestive  than  most  dis- 
courses, will  ever  be  written  again.  Only  the  "insight  of 
love"  could  have  made  such  discernments  and  discrimina- 
tions of  truth  ;  only  the  instrument  of  genius  could  have  so 
reported  and  represented  them. 

Early  in  June  he  went,  as  usual,  to  Warren  for  tbe  summer 
vacation,  driving  across  tbe  country  as  he  was  wont  to  do. 

What  bis  feeling  was  with  respect  to  the  disheartening 
state  of  things  in  the  country  at  large  may  be  understood  by 
the  following  sentence  in  a  letter  addressed  to  Dr.  Bartol. 
He  says  : — "  We  have  no  time  now  for  heart-sickening  or  low 
regrets  of  any  kind.  Our  mourning  should  have  thunder  in 
it."  It  should  be  remembered  that  this  was  written  after 
General  Hooker's  disastrous  campaign  on  tbe  Rappahannock, 
and  while  General  Lee's  army  was  pushing  northward  in  the 
full  tide  of  its  successes.  It  was  the  darkest  hour  of  tbe  war. 
Tbe  voice  of  mourning  filled  the  land.  But  it  was  the  hour 
before  the  dawn.  Tbe  glorious  and  decisive  result  of  the 
awful  battle  at  Gettysburg  proved  that  our  army,  at  least, 
was  animated  with  tbe  same  brave  spirit  that  is  exhibited  in 
bis  words. 


482  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

Ill  tins  same  year  an  article  from  bis  pen  on  "Loyalty" 
was  published  in  tbe  New  Englander.  The  winter  of  1864 
was  spent  at  home,  in  busy  intellectual  work  of  various  kinds, 
including  the  final  revisions  of  the  books  just  now  spoken  of. 

In  March,  1864,  he  wrote  to  Dr.  Bartol : — "  I  thank  you  for 
yowr  monody  on  Starr  King — David  bewailing  Jonathan, 
over  again.  We  thank  God  there  was  a  Jonathan,  if  it  wa3 
only  that  David  might  sing  of  his  death.  However,  do  not 
understand  me  to  think  Starr  King  was  valuable  only  for 
the  lamentations.  I  have  a  very  different  appreciation  of  the 
man.  We  have  had  few  such,  and  shall  have  few,  to  the 
world's  end.  He  has  made  a  good,  great  mark,  and  earned 
a  great  amount  of  thanks,  which  the  world  will  not  forget 
to  pay." 

In  May  he  wrote  to  the  same : — "  What  terrible  throes  this 
new  campaign  of  Grant's  is  costing  us!  I  do  not  feel  dis- 
couraged because  of  the  way,  but  it  is  a  dreadfully  hard  way." 

In  another  letter,  after  speaking  of  his  recently  published 
volume  of  sermons,  he  said:  —  "How  grand  a  matter,  this 
promenade  of  Sherman !  He  is  really  too  bad  upon  Hood — 
shoving  him  off  into  a  corner,  clean  out  of  the  way,  and 
leaving  him  there  at  the  end  of  his  fool's-errand." 

It  may  fitly  be  said  here  that  Dr.  Bushnell  grew  into  a 
great  and  hearty  admiration  of  General  Grant's  generalship. 
He  often  spoke  in  terms  of  unmeasured  praise  of  the  mili- 
tary genius  exhibited  at  Vicksburg  and  Chattanooga;  and 
when  General  Grant  took  command  of  the  Army  of  the  Po- 
tomac, there  was  no  doubt  in  his  mind  of  the  successful  issue 
of  the  projected  campaign.  It  should  be  added,  also,  that 
during  the  years  of  General  Grant's  presidency,  when  it  was 
the  fashion  to  speak  contemptuously  of  him  as  a  man  of 
mean  capacity  and  destitute  of  statesmanship.  Dr.  Bushnell 
was  his  earnest  defender.  It  roused  something  like  anger  in 
him  to  hear  the  depreciations  that  were  often  uttered  con- 
cerning the  President.  JSTot  only  for  his  inestimable  military 
services,  but  for  a  wise,  sagacious,  and  firm  political  admin- 
istration, he  thought  that  General  Grant  merited  tlie  honor 
and  gratitude  of  every  lover  of  his  country. 


LETTER   OF   CONSOLATION.  483 

In  July,  1SG4,  one  of  his  clear  ministerial  brethren,  and 
one  who  had  manfiillj  stood  by  him  in  his  days  of  trial,  Rev. 
Dr.  Dutton,  of  New  Haven,  was  afflicted  in  tlie  loss  of  his 
wife.  Tlie  following  letter  of  condolence  was  written  him 
by  Dr.  Bnshnell : — 

My  dear  Bkother, — The  dreaded  result,  I  perceive,  has 
come, — yonr  mnch-loved  wife  is  with  yon  no  more.  How 
deeply  you  must  feel  this  blow  I  have  no  difficulty  in  con- 
ceiving; and  though  it  may  not  be  needed,!  wish,  as  a  friend, 
to  express  my  sympathy  with  you ;  God's  sympathy  you  have, 
and  having  that,  no  other  can  be  very  significant,  I  know.  I 
believe  that  there  is  no  man  who  so  much  feels  the  loss  of  a 
good  wife  as  a  Christian  minister.  She  is  in  all  his  secrets. 
She  is  his  only  counsellor  in  things  of  daily  occurrence,  and 
there  is  no  other  to  whom  he  can  go.  She  preaches  to  him 
when  nobody  else  will,  and  preaches  sometimes  through  him, 
when  he  would  not,  or  what  he  would  not,  by  himself.  She 
chastises  his  faults  with  a  dear  and  tender  fidelity  when  no- 
body else  can.  In  these  and  a  hnndred  other  ways  she  gets 
twisted  and  twined  into  everything  that  belongs  to  his  life 
and  life-work. 

So,  I  know,  you  will  have  found  it.  But  it  will  be  one  very 
great  comfort,  and  yon  will  thank  God  for  it,  that  her  work  is 
not  ended,  but  still  remains.  You  know  now  what  she  would 
say  and  do,  and  your  life  is  just  so  much  enlarged  by  her 
still.     Soften  your  grief  hy  much  ihanksgimng. 

Yours  truly,  Horace  Bushnell. 

In  the  month  of  July  he  betook  himself,  as  usnal,  to  War- 
ren, and  in  a  letter  to  his  wife  gives  an  account  of  a  narrow 
escape  from  death  by  the  way : — 

Warren,  July  14, 1864. 

My  dear  Wife, — Yon  see  that  I  am  here,  and  Madge  [the 
mare]  is  not  dead.  She  was  very  tired,  but  is  all  np  this  morn- 
ing. I  had  a  very  pleasant  drive,  arriving  here  about  five 
o'clock.  I  do  not  like  to  speak  of  a  very  close  predicament  I 
fell  into,  but  I  ought,  in  just  gratitude  for  my  escape,  to  do  it. 


484  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

The  fact  is,  that  I  came  nearer  being  killed  than  I  ever  did  in 
my  life.  The  road  from  Waterbury  crosses  the  road  from 
Bristol  to  Terryville  at  a  very  acute  angle,  and  is  completely 
out  of  sight  up  to  the  very  crossing.  I  heard  the  whistle  of 
the  coming  train,  but,  owing  to  my  thickness  of  hearing,  it 
sounded  as  if  a  good  distance  off,  and  I  put  on  to  get  across, 
as  I  was  not  over  three  rods  off.  But  Madge  slacked  within 
a  rod,  because  she  was  more  true  in  her  hearing  than  I,  and 
down  came  the  rush  within  six  feet  of  her  nose.  If  she  had 
gone  ahead  as  I  wanted  her  to,  she  would  have  been  right 
upon  the  crossing.  She  sprang  sideways  for  a  turn,  but  I 
held  her,  and,  as  soon  as  she  could  really  see  what  the  train 
was,  she  was  quiet^  a  good  deal  more  quiet  than  I  was.  I 
never  felt  so  conscious  of  a  delivering  Providence  in  my  life. 
I  shall  never  try  to  drive  over  a  railroad  crossing  again  be- 
fore a  train,  unless  I  can  see  it.  I  had  a  good  rest  at  Plym- 
outh, and  had  my  picnic  about  half-past  twelve,  in  the  gorge 
of  the  Valley  Road, — a  gulf  and  the  roaring  brook  on  one  side; 
on  the  sun  side,  a  closely -wooded  cliff,  out  of  which  ran  a 
little  gimlet-hole  stream, — spilling  out  of  a  bark  spout,  —  of 
the  coolest,  sweetest  water.  No  tongue  was  ever  so  sweet,  no 
currants  so  fresh ;  I  suppose  it  was  because  I  was  thinking 
and  tasting  wife  all  the  while.  Did  you  ever  sweeten  the 
tartar  acid  before  ? 

Warren,  Sunday  evening. 

It  is  a  great  satisfaction  to  hear  that  you  are  not  doing 
worse,  but  better.  Let  us  all  put  it  down  for  a  point,  with 
God's  help,  to  be  well  next  autumn.  I  think  I  should  prob- 
ably have  the  hardest  of  it,  though  I  seem  to  be  perceptibly 
improving,  and  I  do  not  give  up  the  hope  that  I  shall  im- 
prove a  good  deal  more.  Oh,  for  health,  health  of  body,  but, 
— infinitely  more  to  be  valued, — that  health  of  the  soul  which 
puts  it  in  the  trim  of  heaven's  order !  The  longer  I  live,  the 
more  do  I  appreciate  this  most  sublime  possibility.  Then 
how  sweet,  and  just,  and  true,  and  loving,  and  lovely,  how  like 
the  movement  of  a  hymn,  is  the  life !  How  dear  to  each 
other  must  any  two  souls  be  in  this  chime  of  health.  God 
give  us  this,  my  dear  Mary,  in  his  own  good  way  and  time, 


"OUR  OBLIGATIONS  TO  THE  DEAD."  485 

or  rather  put  us  in  that  preparation  of  desire  and  prayer  that 
will  enable  us  to  receive  it. 

I  have  the  letter  you  enclosed,  and  will  try  to  answer  it 
somehow,  though  I  hardly  know  how.  How  many  modes  of 
morbid  goodness  there  may  be, — that  is,  of  goodness  only  a 
little  good ! 

In  the  autumn  of  1SG4,  the  Eev.  George  B.  Spalding,  of 
Vergennes,  Vermont,  and  more  recently  settled  in  Dover, 
New  Hampshire,  was  installed  as  pastor  of  the  North  Church, 
and  remained  faithfully  devoted  to  its  charge  for  a  period  of 
nearly  six  years,  during  which  time  its  location  and  its  name 
were  changed  to  that  of  the  Park  Church. 

The  winter  of  the  ensuing  year  was  spent  in  work  upon 
the  forth-coming  treatise. 

In  the  summer  he  delivered  the  oration  at  the  Commem- 
orative Celebration,  held  in  honor  of  the  Alumni  of  Yale 
College  who  had  served  their  country  in  the  late  war.  The 
oration  was  entitled  "  Our  Obligations  to  the  Dead,"  and 
some  report  of  it  may  properly  be  made  here.  It  was,  in  the 
highest  sense  of  the  phrase,  a  funeral  oration,  in  honor  not 
only  of  the  Alumni  of  Yale  College,  but  of  all  the  dead  who 
had  fallen  in  the  war. 

"  We  are  to  give  the  dead  their  due  share  of  the  victory  and  the  hon- 
ors of  victory.  Not  only  they  who  return,  but  they  who  fell,  are  in  the 
lists  of  triumph.  As  it  is  the  ammunition  spent  that  gains  the  battle, 
so  the  dead  and  dumb  heroes  are  the  purchase-money  of  our  redemption. 

"  Buried  generations  back  of  them  must  also  be  taken  into  the  ac- 
count. If  we  can  know  concerning  the  Honorable  Sherman,  the  Dea- 
con Sherman,  the  Judge  Sherman,  and  all  the  line  of  Shermans,  with 
their  victor  wives  and  mothers,  what  they  were  and  how  they  lived,  we 
shall  know  who  fought  the  great  campaigns  on  Atlanta,  and  made  the 
wonderful  march  to  the  sea.  If  we  begin  at  Deacon  Grant  of  the  Wind- 
sor Church,  descending  to  the  historic  Matthew  Grant  of  Tolland— fel- 
low-scout with  Putnam  and  captain  of  a  French  war  company  —  and 
thence  to  Joel  Root  Grant,  who  removed  to  Pennsylvania,  to  Ohio,  to 
Illinois,  we  shall  see  by  what  tough  flanking  processes  of  life  the  great 
general  was  preparing.  From  tliese  examples  it  may  be  seen  by  what 
lines  of  private  worth,  and  public  virtue,  and  more  than  noble  blood,  the 


486  LIFE   OF   HORACE  BUSIINELL. 

stock  of  our  armies  has  been  furnished.  If  we  would  pay  our  obliga- 
tions to  the  dead,  \vc  must  bow  in  deejiest  homage  and  reverence  before 
the  memory  of  this  nameless  fatherhood  and  motherhood. 

"Our  dead  have  a  distinctive  right  of  honor  in  the  simple  fact  that 
they  Avere  the  victims  in  that  great  sacritlce  of  blood  which  has  opened 
for  us  a  new  chapter  of  life.  They  have  bled  for  us,  and  from  that  shed- 
ding of  blood  have  come  for  us  great  remissions  and  redemptions.  In 
this  blood  of  our  slain  our  unity  is  cemented  and  sanctified.  The  sacri- 
fices in  the  fields  of  the  Revolution  united  us  but  imperfectly.  We  had 
not  bled  enough  to  merge  our  colonial  distinctions,  and  let  out  the  State- 
rights  doctrine,  and  make  us  a  proper  nation.  And  so,  what  argument 
could  not  accomi)lish,  sacrifice  has  achieved.  Our  dead  have  given  us 
the  possibility  of  a  great  consciousness  and  great  public  sentiments;  for 
a  lofty  public  consciousness  arises  only  when  things  are  loftily  and  nobly 
done.  The  pitch  of  our  life  is  raised.  We  perceive  what  it  is  to  have  a 
country  and  a  public  devotion. 

"  We  have  now  a  new  and  stupendous  chapter  of  national  history. 
The  story  of  this  four  years'  war  is  the  grandest  chapter  of  heroic  fact, 
tragic  devotion,  and  public  sacrifice  that  has  ever  been  made  in  the 
world.  The  great  epic  story  of  Troy  is  but  a  song  in  comparison.  Our 
cause  has  been  that  of  order,  law,  liberty,  and  right,  and  we  have  borne 
ourselves  worthily  of  it. 

"  Out  of  this  comes  also  the  confidence  of  a  new  literary  age.  As  no 
wn'iter  becomes  himself,  in  his  full  power,  till  he  has  gotten  the  sense  of 
position,  so  of  a  people.  Hitherto  avc  have  been  in  a  condition  of  clien- 
cy,  taking  our  models  and  laws  of  criticism,  and  our  opinions  too,  from 
the  English  motherhood  of  our  language  and  mind.  We  are  now  weaned 
from  that  pupilage,  have  gotten  our  position,  are  to  think  our  own 
thoughts,  rhyme  in  our  own  measures,  kindle  our  own  fires,  and  write, 
not  English,  but  American.  We  have  gotten  also  the  historic  material 
of  a  true  oratorio  inspiration.  We  have  facts,  adventures,  characters 
enough  to  feed  five  Iiundred  years  of  fiction.  We  have  plots,  lies,  per- 
juries, false  heroics,  barbaric  murders  and  assassinations,  cons])iracies  of 
fire  and  poison  —  enough  of  them,  and  wicked  enough,  to  furnish  the 
Satanic  side  of  tragedy  for  long  ages  to  come;  coujiled  with  such  gran- 
deurs of  public  valor  and  principle,  such  beauty  of  heroic  sacrifice,  as 
tragedy  has  scarcely  yet  been  able  to  find.  Our  battle-fields  are  hence- 
forth poetic  names,  and  our  very  soil  is  touched  with  a  mighty  poetic 
life.  In  the  rustic  of  our  winds,  what  shall  the  waking  soul  of  our  jjoets 
think  of  but  of  brave  souls  riding  by  ?  In  our  thunders  they  may  hear 
the  shocks  of  charges,  and  the  red  of  the  sunset  shall  take  a  tinge  in 
their  feeling  from  the  summits  where  our  heroes  fell.  We  seem  to  be 
set,  in  a  day,  in  loftier  ranges  of  thought  by  this  huge  flood-tide  that  has 
lifted  our  nationality. 


VISIT   TO   THE   SCENES   OF   THE   WAR.  487 

"By  tlie  blood  of  their  sacrifice  these  dead  have  consecrated  our  free 
institutions.  They  are  no  longer  mere  human  creations,  but  God's  ordi- 
nances. The  wretched  philosophy  out  of  which  came  secession  is  done 
away.  Government  has  now  become  a  grandly  moral  afiair.  The  stains 
of  sacrifice,  tlie  stamp  of  divine  sovereignty,  are  on  it. 

"  By  what  fitting  tribute  are  these  obligations  to  be  paid  ?  We  should 
care  for  their  wives  and  children  ;  sanctify  their  good  name;  memorize 
with  monuments  and  tablets  their  deeds;  and,  above  all  else,  take  their 
places  and  stand  in  their  cause.  Like  the  blood  of  righteous  Abel,  their 
blood  cries  to  us  and  to  God  from  every  field,  and  river,  and  wood,  and 
road  dotted  by  our  pickets  and  swept  by  the  march,  that  we  execute 
their  purpose  and  fulfil  the  idea  that  inspired  them.  We  are  sworn  to  see 
that  the  perpetual,  supreme  sovereignty  of  the  nation  is  established ;  we 
are  sworn  to  see  that  every  vestige  of  slavery  is  swept  clean." 

In  the  spring  of  18G6,  witli  a  dear  friend  and  his  daughter, 
Dr.  Bushnell  journeyed  southward,  visiting  the  battle-field  of 
Gettysburg,  sailing  up  the  James  River,  and  spending  a  few 
days  in  and  about  Richmond,  from  which  place  the  following 
letter  w\as  written  on  the  l^th  of  April : — 

My  dearest  Wife, — You  will  see  by  this  that  I  am  "  on 
to  Richmond !"  and  have  taken  possession.  We  have  had  a 
most  delightful  time  so  far — at  Harrisburg  on  Wednesday, 
overnight,  reaching  Gettysburg  on  Thursday,  and  spending 
a  beautiful  afternoon  in  visiting  all  the  points  of  the  battle- 
field. We  got  as  clear  an  idea  almost  of  the  whole  tliree 
days  of  mortal  strife  as  if  we  had  been  in  it  ourselves.  Oh, 
what  a  grandeur  hangs  over  that  sacred  valley  and  town, 
w^iere  the  fires  of  a  true  devotion  to  the  country's  life  burnt 
with  a  vigor  so  glorious!  On  Friday  we  struck  Baltimore, 
and,  after  playing  round  awhile  on  the  lions,  glanced  off 
down  upon  Fortress  Monroe,  where  Ave  arrived  by  steamer 
Saturday  morning.  Yesterday  we  spent  in  ascending  the 
river  through  a  tier  of  historic  places  and  lines  of  earthwork, 
till  we  reached  this  place.  To-day  we  spent  the  forenoon  at 
the  great  African  church.  To-morrow  we  go  to  Petersburg 
and  back  ;  and  Tuesday  turn  our  faces  towards  home,  M'hether 
by  way  of  Antietam  or  not,  I  do  not  know.  This,  you  see,  is 
my  birthday,  and  the  loss  that  I  have  made  in  my  hearing 

32 


488  LIFE   OF   HORACE   BUSHXELL. 

admonislies  me  more  than  ever  that  I  am  growing  old.  I 
have  had  a  great  many  thoughts,  some  very  tender  and  de- 
lightful, some  overcast  with  misgiving  and  self -accusation. 
I  think  I  am  growing  more  conscious  of  sin,  and  am  some- 
times even  a  little  disturbed  by  its  perils.  Kever  did  I  feel 
so  weak  and  far  away  from  self-help.  I  certainly  want  and 
long  to  be  joined  to  you  in  the  pure  unity  of  God.  I  want 
to  have  our  sunset — what  shall  I  say  ? — a  setting  of  the  sun. 
And  it  is  my  tender  prayer  that  we  may  ripen  into  the  full- 
est and  highest  possibilities  God  will  give  us. 

The  following  extract  from  a  letter  was  written  to  his  wif(? 
in  August,  from  his  summer  haunt  in  Warren  : — 

I  am  glad  to  hear  that  you  are  in  ISTew  Haven.  The 
change,  I  think,  will  be  good  for  you.  Only  make  it  a  point 
to  play  and  be  a  little  dissipated.  Even  a  violin  wants  to 
have  its  strings  let  down,  and  not  be  kept,  by  the  year,  up  to 
concert  pitch.  It  is  very  true  that  a  good  Christian  woman 
is  not  a  violin,  and  also  true  that  there  is  a  certain  power 
of  play  in  the  free  state  of  Christian  liberty  that  makes  the 
strain  of  application  less  exhausting.  Still,  there  is  a  certain 
want  of  natural  play  for  us  all,  partly  because  we  touch  the 
state  of  innocence  in  it,  and  so  a  taste  of  paradise,  needful  for 
us  as  truly  as  for  the  lambs. 

It  was  during  this  year  that  the  volume  which  had  been 
so  long  preparing  was  published.  Its  complete  title,  viz., 
"  The  Vicarious  Sacrifice,  Grounded  in  Principles  of  Univer- 
sal Obligation,"  was  significant  of  its  import,  and  the  theo- 
logical critics  fell  upon  it  with  avidity. 

Christ's  object  is  the  healing  of  souls.  He  is  to  be  God's 
moral  power  in  working  such  a  soul-cure.  His  life  and  sac- 
rifice are  what  he  does  to  become  this  saving  power. 

This  may  be  called  the  central  doctrine  of  the  volume,  about 
which  many  other  related  subjects  are  grouped  in  discussion. 

The  sacrifice  and  cross  of  Christ  are  represented  "as  the 
simple  duty  of  Christ,  and  not  any  superlative,  optional  kind 


"THE  VICARIOUS  SACRIFICE"  PUBLISHED.  4S9 

of  good,  outside  of  all  the  common  principles  of  virtue.  It 
is  not  goodness  over-good,  and  yielding  a  surplus  of  merit  in 
that  manner  for  us,  but  it  is  only  just  as  good  as  it  ought  to 
be  ...  a  model,  in  that  view,  for  us,  and  a  power,  if  we  can 
suffer  it,  of  ingenerated  life  in  us." 

The  following  words  in  the  preface  show  how  far  the  writer 
felt  that  he  had  succeeded  in  solving  the  great  problem : — 

"Perhaj)s  it  will  some  time  be  judged  that  I  have  labored 
the  vast,  uncom])7'ehend€d  complex'dij^  and  incomprehensible 
mystery  of  the  matter  as  carefully,  as  conscientiously,  and  per- 
haps, also,  with  as  true  a  justice,  as  if  I  had  assumed  the  power 
to  scheme  it  in  a  proposition." 

It  is  not  necessary  to  speak  further,  either  of  the  argument 
or  of  the  logical  and  rhetorical  vigor  of  this  book.  However 
inconclusive  its  reasoning  may  seem  to  some,  it  cannot  be  de- 
nied that  its  pages  testify  not  only  of  the  author's  genius,  but 
of  a  mind  so  saturated  with  the  spirit  of  Christ  as  to  give  the 
color  and  aroma  of  that  spirit  to  its  every  utterance.  It  would 
be  difficult  to  find  a  passage  of  more  pathos  and  power  than 
that  wherein  the  author  addresses  Christ  in  the  closing  words 
of  the  book.  It  is  the  incense  from  the  altar  of  his  inmost 
heart,  sweet  as  the  effluence  of  those  vials  full  of  odors  which 
are  the  prayers  of  saints. 

On  one  of  the  pages  of  this  book  occurs  the  following  eu- 
logy of  President  Lincoln,  whose  case  he  felicitously  used  to 
illustrate  how  moral  power,  "  even  the  moral  power  of  Christ, 
emerges  finally,  and  is  crowned  only  when  the  necessary  point 
of  revision  is  reached": — 

"  I  send  these  sheets  to  the  press  when  our  great  nation 
is  dissolving,  as  it  were,  in  its  tears  of  mourning,  for  the 
great  and  true  father  whom  the  assassins  of  law  and  liberty 
have  sent  to  his  grave.  AVliat  now  do  we  see  in  him  but 
all  that  is  wisest,  and  most  faithful,  and  worthiest  of  his 
perilous  magistracy?  A  halo  rests  upon  his  character,  and 
we  find  no  longer  anything  to  blame,  scarcely  anything  not 
to  admire,  in  the  measures  and  counsels  of  his  gloriously  up- 
right, impartial,  passionless,  undiscourageable  rule.  But  we 
did  not  always  see  him  in  that  figure.     When  already  three 


4:90  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

full  years  of  his  time  were  gone  by,  many  of  us  were  doubt- 
ful whetlier  most  to  blame  or  praise,  and  many  who  most 
wanted  to  praise  had  well-nigh  lost  their  confidence  in  him, 
and  even  retained  their  respect  with  difficulty.  But  the  suc- 
cesses he  deserved  began  at  last  to  come,  and  the  merit  of  his 
rule  to  appear.  We  only  doubted  still  whether  wholly  to  ap- 
prove and  praise.  .  .  .  But  the  tragic  close  of  his  life  has  add- 
ed a  new  element,  and  brought  on  a  second  revision,  setting 
him  in  a  character  only  the  more  sublime  because  it  is  orig- 
inal, and  quite  unmatched  in  history.  The  great  name  now 
of  Abraham  Lincoln  emerges  complete, — a  power  of  blessing 
on  mankind,  and  a  bond  of  homage  in  the  feeling  of  his  coun- 
try forever." 

During  the  summer  of  this  same  year  he  delivered  an  ad- 
dress on  "  Pulpit  Talent,"  at  Andover  Seminary.  It  was  af- 
terwards published  in  a  magazine  called  Hours  at  Home,  with 
the  title,  "  Training  for  the  Pulpit." 

This  address  was  an  unusually  bright,  sharp,  and  pungent 
one,  and  was  the  theme  of  discussion  in  many  ministerial 
circles. 

It  attempted  to  discover  some  of  the  factors  in  successful 
preaching  which  are  not  included  in  the  common  computa- 
tions. High  scholarship,  metaphysical  and  theological  think- 
ing, style  and  manner,  and  voice  for  speaking  are  stated  to  be 
the  four  canonical  talents,  and  are  racily  discussed. 

"  Of  what  use  is  it  to  know  the  German,  when  we  do  not 
know  the  human  ?  or  to  know  the  Hebrew  points,  when  we 
do  not  know  at  all  the  points  of  our  wonderfully  punctuated 
humanity  ?" 

"Analysis  often  kills  a  sermon.  Death  is  a  great  analyzer, 
and  nothing  ever  comes  out  of  the  analyzing  process  alive." 

"  Formulas  are  the  jerked-meat  of  salvation  !" 

"A  great  many  preachers  die  of  style, — that  is,  of  trying  to 
soar, — when,  if  they  would  only  consent  to  go  afoot,  as  their 
ideas  do,  they  might  succeed  and  live.  To  get  up  grand  ex- 
pressions .  .  .  and  then  go  hunting  after  only  weak  ideas  to 
put  into  them,  is  the  very  wickedest  and  absurdest  violation 
of  the  Second  Commandment." 


ARTICLES  IN  "HOURS  AT  HOME."  491 

Among  the  uncanonical  but  essential  preaching  talents  lie 
specifies  "the  talent  for  growtJiP  Some  men  never  grow; 
tliey  do  not  come  on  an  inch.  "  They  are  like  the  Q,g^  that 
enlarges  never  a  line  after  it  lias  found  maturity  in  a  slicll !" 

Another  talent  is  the  possession  of  a  great  conscience,  or  "a 
firmly  accentuated  moral  nature." 

Another  is  a  large  faith -talent.  "The  soul  needs  to  have 
broad,  high  windows,  opening  Godward." 

Another  is  what  he  describes  as  "  a  good  personal  atmos- 
phere." 

"  It  was  not  Jesus'  look,  nor  his  declamation,  nor  his  fine 
periods ;  It  was  not  even  his  prodigious  weight  of  matter ; 
but  it  was  the  sacred  exhalation  of  his  quality,  the  aroma,  the 
auroral  glory  of  his  person,"  that  gave  him  such  power  as  he 
had. 

"He  took  the  human  person  to  exhale  an  atmosphere  of  God 
that  should  fill,  and  finally  renew,  creation,  bathing  all  climes, 
and  times,  and  ages  with  its  dateless,  ineradicable  power," 

In  the  month  of  September  the  last  services  were  held  in 
the  old  North  Church,  in  which  Dr.  Bushnell  had  preached 
so  many  years.  The  congregation  moved  into  its  new  house 
of  worship  near  the  city  park,  and  adopted  the  name  by  which 
it  has  since  been  known  —  the  Park  Church.  The  location 
and  erection  of  this  new  sanctuary  had  deeply  interested  him. 
The  I^ortli  Church — the  scene  of  his  ministerial  labors  and 
triumphs  —  was  speedily  transformed  into  a  place  of  mer- 
chandise, but  there  are  many  still  living  whose  remembrances 
of  its  religious  associations  with  Dr.  Bushnell's  ministry  are 
very  precious  and  sacred. 

In  this  same  year  an  article  from  his  pen,  entitled  "  The 
Natural  History  of  the  Yaguey  Family,"  was  printed  in  Hours 
at  Home.  Taking  for  his  text  a  singular  parasitical  Cuban 
tree,  the  yaguey, "  the  wooden  devil  of  the  general  treehood," 
he  humorously  makes  it  a  type  of  the  thieving  and  parasiti- 
cal human  growths,  in  a  manner  well  suggested  by  the  letter 
written  to  one  of  his  children  from  Savannah  in  1855,  to  be 
found  in  a  preceding  chapter. 

The  year  1867  was  one  of  comparative  leisure.     The  fol- 


492  LIFE   OF   HORACE   BUSHNELL. 

lowing  letters  written  to  the  late  Rev.  George  Bacon,  D.D., 
will  indicate  what  his  opinions  were  concerning  "worship" 
and  the  "rotatory  diaconate:" — 

"I  think  this  responsive  reading  may  be  well.  It  gives 
the  people  something  to  do.  Still,  I  do  not  sympathize  with 
the  talk  we  have  about  w'orship  —  much  worship!  and  the 
claim  that  reverence  requires  putting  the  worship  first.  I 
do  not  think  so.  What  is  worship  but  the  fire  and  flame 
of  hearts  burning  in  the  sense  of  God?  And  a  real,  right- 
working  sermon  will  kindle  more  such  flame  than  all  the 
liturgies  of  the  world.  What  liturgies  had  Christ  and  his 
apostles,  and  what  did  they  do  but  preach  and  keep  preach- 
ing in  all  their  assemblies?  Make  the  preaching  right,  and 
I  will  answer  for  the  interest,  and  glow,  and  high  understand- 
ing, and  real  worship  of  the  people.  .  .  . 

"I  heartily  dissent  from  the  three-year  deacons!  The 
deacon  is  to  purchase  to  himself  a  good  degree  and  great 
boldness,  and  that  good  degree  means  power  for  good,  ac- 
quired by  long  use.  And  a  good  old  deacon — God  bless  him ! 
— what  is  there  better,  and  more  to  be  felt  or  loved  ?  But 
a  three-year  deacon  is  nobody.  He  is  scarcely  old  enough 
to  have  gotten  by  the  state  of  veal, — he  is  not  beef  at  all. 
The  very  naming  of  a  three -year  trust  kills  the  office.  A 
real  live  deacon  can  hardly  appear  in  that  figure." 

The  following  letter  seems  to  have  been  written  in  re- 
sponse to  a  request  for  recommendation  to  a  professorship 
of  metaphysics.  For  obvious  reasons  the  name  of  the  per- 
son addressed  is  withheld : — 

Hartford,  April  18, 1867. 

I  am  very  much  at  a  loss  to  know  what  answer  I  ought 
to  give  to  your  request.  You  are  quite  right  in  assuming 
that  I  will  not  be  disinclined  to  do  you  service  in  this  matter 
because  you  are  personally  a  stranger.  But  it  happens  that 
you  are  unfortunate  in  applying  to  one  who  is  so  far  out  of 
line  in  the  matter  of  metaphysics.  I  was  formerly  drawn  to 
that  study,  but  I  have  lost  all  expectation  from  it,  and  only 


METAPHYSICS.  493 

read  enough  to  keep  myself  informed  of  what  is  passing. 
After  any  one  has  gotten  the  insight  of  words,  wliere  all  true 
intelligence  (intus  lego)  centres  and  comes  to  its  limits,  I  do 
not  think  it  possible  for  him  to  care  much  for  logic  or  met- 
apliysics.  He  has  discovered  by  that  time  the  possibility  of 
systems  without  end,  and  the  impossibility  of  any  that  can 
stand.  And  it  is  a  fact  not  to  be  questioned,  that  metaphys- 
ics have  never  established  anything.  The  last  new  teacher 
is  always  about  to  do  it,  and  the  coterie  gathered  about  him 
are  quite  certain  that  he  has ;  but  it  turns  out  very  shortly 
that  he  has  rather  multiplied  the  cjuestions  than  settled  any 
one  of  them.  The  teachers  are  all  building  what  they  call 
the  '  science,'  but  science  does  not  fare  in  that  way.  There 
is,  in  fact,  no  science  here,  and  never  will  be, — language  is  too 
liglit-winged  and  too  competent  of  right  uses  to  be  harnessed 
in  this  mill.  Metaphysics  have  three  uses.  First,  they  show 
that  metaphysics  are  impossible  ;  secondly,  they  are  a  good 
gymnastic ;  thirdly,  they  vary  the  old  questions,  so  as  to  en- 
large the  field.  At  this  last  point  Spencer  has  a  considerable 
merit,  with,  as  far  as  I  know,  scarcely  any  other. 

I  have  read  only  one  of  the  articles  you  name, — that  on 
"Positivism  in  Theology."  My  criticism  on  it  would  be  brief- 
ly this:  —  that  the  positivism  you  so  much  count  upon  ap- 
pears to  be  nothing  different  from  Bacon's  doctrine  of  sci- 
ence, after  you  have  so  essentially  cut  down  the  merit  of 
Comte,  to  whom  it  belongs,  and  so  handsomely  and  fatally 
demolished  Spencer,  its  most  pronn'nent  champion.  I  per- 
ceive in  the  latter  part  of  your  article  that  you  still  cling  to 
the  faith  of  something  very  positive,  somewhere,  if  anybody 
can  find  it ;  but  as  we  do  not  commonly  name  children  be- 
fore they  are  born,  I  see  no  very  particular  reason,  just  now, 
for  asserting  anything  under  this  rather  pretentious  title. 
And  it  will  not  be  any  more  acceptable  to  some  that  they 
look  on  Comte  as  not  being  very  much  of  a  character. 

What  you  say  of  "logical  and  illogical"  science,  and  re- 
ligious "authority  and  reason,"  "supernaturalism  and  natural- 
ism," appears  to  me  to  be  more  a  matter  of  logomachy  than 
you  think  it  is,  though  I  distinguish  in  it  a  very  great  as- 


494  LIFE   OF  IIOllACE  BUSHNELL. 

sumption,  from  which  I  strongly  dissent.  You  assume  that 
opinion  here  is  going  to  be  finally  science,  and  so  the  end  of 
all  debate ;  whereas  I  look  upon  opinion  as  a  kind  of  clat- 
ter that  can  settle  nothing.  Faith  is  a  much  higher,  more 
explorative  way  of  knowledge  here  than  opinion,  and  cannot 
well  be  ignored  as  the  summit -faculty  of  souls.  Faith  dis- 
cerns; opinion  manipulates.  Faith  has  nothing  to  do  with 
propositions;  opinion,  with  nothing  else.  Thus,  when  I  be- 
lieve in  God,  it  is  the  act  of  one  being  committing  himself 
in  trust  to  another  being,  and  in  that  trust  getting  immediate 
knowledge  and  consciousness  of  him.  In  that  knowledge, 
too,  I  get  the  sense  of  my  own  everdiiringness,  which  never 
was  or  can  be  settled  by  the  method  of  opinion  Avorking  at 
the  question  of  immortality.  So  of  supernatural  inspiration, 
the  grandest  fact  of  human  experience — opinion  can  do  noth- 
ing with  it. 

What,  then,  shall  I  say  ?  That  you  write  well  I  admit  with 
the  greater  satisfaction  that  I  am  obliged  to  make  these 
strictures.  In  your  negative  and  destructive  work  I  perfect- 
ly agree  with  you.  You  are  a  good  metaphysician — capable, 
I  think,  of  standing  as  high  as  a  metaphysician  ought  to 
stand,  or  can,  without  ceasing  to  be  one.  And  there  is  noth- 
ing I  should  so  much  like  as  to  recommend  some  one  for 
this  kind  of  professorship  who  will  teach  words,  show  how 
words  are  made  up  into  systems,  how  all  systems  slip  by  slip- 
ping in  Avords— how  the  science  they  attempt  has,  therefore, 
never  been  forth-coming,  and  never  will  be.  .  .  . 

The  following  note  Avas  Avritten  to  a  friend  Avlio  had  sent 
him  a  little  barometric  "  weather-house,"  from  AA'hose  door  a 
man  is  made  to  come  out  in  bad  weather,  or  a  woman  when 
the  weather  changes  to  fair: — , 

Dear  Miss  E., — It  is  a  rather  tough  joke  upon  us  male 
ones  that  w^e  are  to  be  the  signs  of  all  bad  Aveather,  and  the 
AA'omen  folk  to  bring  all  the  fair  mornings  and  bright,  open 
skies.  Is  it  so  in  the  great  "Weather  -  House  of  the  world, 
Avhere  the  so-called  mated  people  live?  Does  the  Avoman 
run  out  of  the  house  at  one  door,  Avhenever  the  man  comes 


BUILDING   ERAS   IN   RELIGION.  495 

ill  at  the  other?  Pray  has  that  been  your  feeling?  If  so, 
it  explains  one  thing  I  could  never  understand.  ISTo,  my 
friend,  your  "weather-house"  does  not  rejiresent  the  inside 
weather,  but  the  outside.  And  when  your  man  comes  brave- 
ly forth  to  report  the  coming  storms,  that  is  the  generosity 
of  his  make.  And  when  the  dear  mate  timidly  retires  with- 
in, claiming  her  "  woman's  rights,"  that  is — what  you  please. 
Very  good.  I  like  it,  and  shall  be  a  great  deal  more  atten- 
tive to  the  weather,  for  the  weather-house's  sake,  and  shall 
peer  inside  sometimes,  wishing  comfort  in  the  storms  to  the 
giver.     With  much  affection,  yours,  II.  B. 

During  the  year  1868  several  articles  from  his  pen  were 
published  in  various  magazines.  One,  on  "  Science  and  Re- 
ligion," appeared  in  Putnam'' s  Magazine  j  and  another,  of  un- 
common interest,  on  "  Bailding  Eras  in  Religion,"  in  Hours  at 
Home.  This  latter  article  was  originally  written  in  the  form 
of  a  sermon  for  use  at  the  dedication  of  the  Park  Church.  In 
its  descriptions  of  the  Cathedral  age  occur  many  passages  of 
singular  force  and  beauty  : — 

"And  now  (after  the  crusades)  the  old  heroics  of  sentiment, 
the  romance,  the  church  fervor,  took  fire  in  the  thought  of 
building  for  religion,  and  began  to  throw  itself  up  in  stone 
as  by  a  divine  call.  .  .  .  Thus  went  up  the  magnificent  Minster 
at  York,  the  grandly-studied  pile  at  Antwerp,  the  gossamer 
web  of  Strasburg,  the  sublime  ineipiency  of  Cologne,  the 
mountain-peak  of  St.  Stephen's  at  Vienna,  and  the  immortal 
beauty  and  unmatched  miracle  of  St.  Ouen  at  Rouen."  Of 
the  latter  he  says :  "  It  was  as  if  the  stone  itself,  bedded  in 
cruciform  lines  of  foundation,  had  shot  up  into  peaks,  and 
pinnacles,  and  pointed  forms,  and  sprung  its  flying  buttresses 
across  in  air  by  some  uplifting  sense  or  quickened  aspiration." 

Encountering  the  different  people,  —  architects.  Ritualists, 
Puritans,  and  Adventists,  —  who  say,  from  their  different 
stand-points,  that  there  will  be  no  grander  building  eras  in  the 
future,  he  argues,  with  great  force  and  eloquence,  that  there 
will  be. 

He  believed  with  all  his  mind  and  heart  in  the  doctrine  of 


496  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSIINELL. 

progress.  Our  boasted  civilization,  superior  as  it  is  to  what 
has  formerly  existed,  is  an  infantine  affair.  These  days  be- 
long to  the  beginnings.  "  The  world  is  an  unhatched  egg  as 
yet.  ...  It  will  go  on  propagating  salvation,  character,  saint- 
hood, brotherhood,  intelligence,  and  glory  for  some  hundred 
thousand  years  yet,  till  the  populations  of  the  redeemed  souls 
preponderate  so  vastly  as  to  throw  all  computations  of  loss  out 
of  mind." 

Never  before  as  now  could  vast  assemblies  be  gathered  at 
single  points. 

"  We  can  set  all  choirs  and  organs  in  every  part  of  a  State 
or  of  the  nation  upon  a  perfect  chime  of  time-beat,  in  any 
given  anthem,  at  any  hour  of  day  or  night.  .  .  .  We  are  to 
have  unequalled  resources  for  building,  and  such  resources 
will  appear,  as  occasion  arises,  in  structures  unequalled  for 
majesty  and  magnitude." 

He  has  no  fears  that  the  art  of  building  has  found  its  limit. 
Then  follows  this  curious  sentence  : — "  Supposing  that  no  new 
forms  or  orders  are  ever  to  be  added,  auy  least  inventive  bigot 
of  routine  can  see  that,  putting  down  a  Greek  cross  for  a 
centre  and  drawing  out  the  four  limbs  into  four  Latin  crosses, 
a  most  perfect  five-fold  whole  can  be  constructed  of  any  con- 
ceivable extent." 

He  shows  how  the  cathedral,  with  all  its  grandeur  and 
beauty,  is  a  great  w\ay  off  from  being  completely  and  genuine- 
ly Christian.  Christianity  has  already  gone  beyond  it  in  its 
development,  and  requires  a  building  for  the  communion  of 
saints  and  their  w^orship  in  the  Spirit,  instead  of  one  for  altar- 
worship  only.  "  Great  movements  now  beginning  all  over 
the  world  foretoken  vast  assemblages  of  believers  flowing  to- 
gether in  a  sublime  concourse  of  brotherhood.  ...  In  that 
great  day  which  the  Spirit  is  preparing,  we  can  see,  at  a 
glance,  that  great  changes  will  be  coming  to  pass  that  will 
demand  great  feasts  and  anthems  of  Koinonial  worship,  such 
as  our  world-brotherhood  has  never  yet  imagined." 

The  time  is  coming  when  our  sectarian  subdivisions  shall 
make  w^ay  for  the  state  of  unity:  when  "the  immense  impost- 
ure of  the  Pope  shall  go  down,  when  all  priesthoods  shall  go 


VACATION   IN   THE   ADIRONDACKS,  497 

down,  and  God's  armies  of  believers  shall  enter  into  the  liber- 
ties of  his  kingdom  ;  when  science  and  religion,  reconciled, 
shall  join  Creator-worship  and  Redeemer-worship ;  and  then 
we  shall  have  great  spaces,  great  symbols,  great  anthems  like 
the  waves  of  the  sea,  great  temples  of  unity  !  Then  the 
grandest  doxologies,  and  most  hallowed  prayers,  and  widest 
human  brotherhoods  will  be  mounting  into  stone  by  the  up- 
ward lift  of  their  affinities." 

This  almost  forgotten  essay  seems  to  us  to  be  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  that  was  ever  written  by  Dr.  Bushnell.  It 
is  a  poem  from  first  to  last ;  and  if  his  forecastings  and  fore- 
shadowings  are  a  poet's  creations,  they  are  too  beautiful  not 
to  be  true,  or  to  lie  in  obscurity.  Professedly  Puritan  and 
anti- Ritualist  as  he  was,  he  cannot  write  of  the  bright  and 
better  daj^s  of  unity  and  completeness  to  come,  without  in- 
vesting worship  with  the  decent  splendors  and  pomps  that 
belong  to  it  and  become  it.  He  hears  thunders  of  responsive 
assent ;  petitions  of  prayer  answered  by  Aniens  like  the  sound 
of  many  waters ;  anthems  that  are  like  the  waves  of  the  sea ; 
and  sees  holy  processions,  timed  by  marches  and  hymns,  in 
the  aisles  and  galleries  of  walh  that  are  alive  with  worship. 
As  it  was  with  Milton,  the  Puritan,  so  it  was  with  him  w^ien 
his  imagination  was  set  on  conceiving  what  Zion  might  be  in 
the  perfection  of  her  beauty,  and  when  God  should  be  wor- 
shipped in  the  full  beauty  of  holiness. 

The  summer  vacation  of  1S68  was  passed,  not  in  the  old 
haunts,  but  in  the  Adirondacks,  whither  he  went  for  the  next 
summer  also.  A  letter  written  there  gives  a  detailed  account 
of  his  ramblings  and  excursions.  Though  an  invalid,  he 
walked,  and  climbed,  and  fished,  after  a  fashion  that  would 
have  exhausted  many  men  who  boast  of  perfect  health.  He 
did  not  believe  in  travelling  much  in  "  Dumpdom."  "  It 
is  a  poor  country,  with  very  bad  roads,  and  almost  anybody 
would  do  better  to  go  round  it  than  to  pass  through  it." 

He  made,  or  rather  found,  some  true  friends  in  that  beauti- 
ful valley.  He  honored  the  manly  qualities  of  some  of  the 
guides,  enjoyed  the  ruminations  and  piquancies  of  "  Old 
Phelps,"  and  all  the  meandering  walks  and  talks  they  had  to- 


498  LIFI^   OF    HORACE   BUSHXELL. 

getlier.  But  his  thoughts  often  adverted  with  a  peculiav 
tenderness  to  the  lowly  Christian  souls  there,  having  an  ex- 
perience that  differed  so  widely  from  his  own,  sustaining  in 
those  quiet  recesses  of  the  mountains  an  inward  life  with 
God  which  was  almost  unrecognized  by  man.  Of  one  house- 
hold, beneath  whose  roof  he  found  a  peaceful  shelter,  he  said, 
— "  How  beautiful  are  such  lives,  growing  in  obscurity,  hid- 
den away  here  like  the  mosses  in  the  forest !" 

Mount  Marcy  was  not  enough  for  him,  and,  with  a  guide, 
he  set  forth  for  "  twice  as  tough  a  job,"— to  climb  the  Giant 
of  the  Valley  by  an   unknown   route.      As  this   mountain 
had  then  been  visited  by  only  a  few  persons,  and  as  his 
o-uide  was  an  old  man  whose  qualification  for  the  attempt 
consisted  in  the  fact  that  he  had  once  reached  its  top  from 
another  quarter,  their  expedition  was  regarded  as  not  only 
difficult  but  hazardous.     The  Giant  is  peculiarly  inaccessible, 
owing  to  the  tangle  of  rough  hills  which  hem  it  in  ;    the 
way  was  trackless,  and  the  climb,  even  under  more  favora- 
ble circumstances,  is  one  of  the  most  arduous  to  be  made  in 
that  reo-ion.     They  however  succeeded  in  reaching  the  sum- 
mit ;  and  then,  as  daylight  was  waning  and  time  became  val- 
uable. Dr.  Bushnell  proposed  a  rapid  way  of  descent  by  means 
of  the  bare  slides  of  rock  made  by  avalanches,  and  extend- 
ino-  half  way  down  the  mountain  on  its  farther  side.     Trust- 
ing themselves  to  these,  the  two  old  men  proceeded  to  coast 
down  the  steep  incline,  clinging  or  catching  as  they  might, 
here   and  there,  by  a  bush  or   shrub.      This   crazy  exploit 
was   safely  accomplished,  and  after   dark,  and  when   great 
anxiety  was  beginning  to  be  felt  for  them,  the  travellers  ap- 
peared, staggering  with  fatigue,  but  jubilant  over  the  success 
of  their  adventure.     Those  who  remember  how  exceedingly 
frail  Dr.  Bushnell  seemed  at  that  time  can  but  wonder  at  his 
fourteen  miles'  tramp  up  and  down  in  the  wilderness.     But 
they  can  understand  why  he  should  attempt  it,  when  he  says, 
"It  had  for  me  the  interest  of  an  exploration." 

Many  interesting  reminiscences  of  his  Adirondack  life  have 
been  related  by  his  dear  young  friend,  Rev.  J.  H.  Twichell, 
who  was  his  companion  in  those  scenes. 


INCIDENTS   OF   LIFE   IN  THE  WOODS.  499 

One  day,  as  they  were  fishing  together,  and  his  friend, 
drawing  him  out,  remarked  on  the  satisfaction  lie  must  feel 
at  the  many  testimonies  that  came  to  him  of  his  helpfulness, 
he  made  answer  that  the  only  ground  of  self-satisfaction  he 
had  was  that  he  knew  he  had  loved  truth,  and  had  tried  to 
find  it  out ! 

Again  he  said,  —  "The  wonder  of  wonders  to  me,  in  the 
personal  dealings  of  God  with  me,  is  the  patience  he  has  had 
with  me !  Oh,  how  he  has  had  to  bear  with  me !  How  he 
has  borne  with  me  !" 

He  often  fell  into  moods  of  criticism  that  were  fatal  to 
whatever  books  came  under  review.  One  night,  as  he  lay, 
with  two  friends,  before  the  camp-fire,  the  conversation  turn- 
ed npon  authors.  One  by  one  the  literary  champions  went 
down  nnder  his  lance,  until  the  field  was  pretty  thick  with 
the  slain.  One  then  quietly  asked  him  what  authors  he  did 
like.  Hesitating  a  little,  and  probably  perceiving  the  snare, 
he  mentioned  two  or  three,  but  finally  demolished  them  all, 
save  Coleridge.  I  have  often  heard  him  say  that  he  was 
more  indebted  to  Coleridge  than  to  any  extra-Scriptural  au- 
thor. If  the  sermons  of  Dr.  Bushnell  made  a  deep  impres- 
sion on  th6  minds  of  his  hearers,  and  were  treasured  np  in 
memory,  so  also  with  his  prayers.  He  prayed  as  if  speak- 
ing to  some  one  within  hearing,  and  as  if  that  one  was  lis- 
tening. AVith  singular  felicity  and  simplicity  of  language 
too.  His  prayers  had  the  effect  of  somehow  enlarging  the 
spiritual  horizon.  They  let  in  light.  God's  presence  was 
felt  to  be  near.  They  made  one  feel  how  great  a  privilege 
there  is  in  prayer,  and  into  what  a  freedom  it  leads. 

Mr.  Twichell  speaks  of  this  in  the  following  anecdote : — 
"  I  shall  never  forget  one  night  when  I  was  alone  with  him, 
away  up  on  the  side  of  Mount  Marcy,  when  it  Came  time  to 
sleep,  and  I  asked  him  to  pray,  how  turning  on  his  face  (for 
we  were  both  lying  doAvn)  he  began  in  his  natural  voice,  but 
with  a  tone  as  soft  and  still  and  melodious  as  the  low  mur- 
mur of  the  stream  that  ran  by  our  camp,  what  seemed  for 
all  the  world  like  talking  with  some  person  who  was  next 
to  him,  but  whom  I  did  not  see.     And  so  he  continued  com- 


500  LIFE   OF   HORACE   BUSHNELL. 

muning  sweetly  in  expressions  of  adoring  tlianks,  and  love, 
and  humility,  and  trust,  and  blessed  hope,  with  that  near  Pres- 
ence; till  when  he  ended  I  found  every  other  feeling  swallow- 
ed up  in  the  thought  that  God  was  there." 

Certain  characteristic  traits  of  Dr.  Bushnell  are  pleasantly 
illustrated  in  a  description,  by  Mr.  Twichell,  of  an  expedition 
in  the  Adirondacks.  It  will  be  read  with  zest  by  all  who 
knew  him : — 

"  Up  in  the  Adirondacks  there  is  a  certain  route  that  par- 
ties have  always  taken  into  the  wilderness  to  visit  some  of  the 
notable  natural  phenomena  of  that  locality.     The  first  time 
the  Doctor  went  there,  he  had,  within  two  days  after  his  ar- 
rival, by  looking  at  the  lay  of  the  conntry  and  studying  the 
map,  made  up  his  mind  that  there  was  a  better  course  to  fol- 
low in  taking  that  trip,  and  nothing  would  do  but  that  I  must 
set  out  with  him  and  prove  it.    It  was  a  sort  of  heresy  in  the 
premises,  but  he  succeeded  in  establishing  it.    There  were  in- 
cidents of  this  little  expedition  that  stick  in  my  memory  be- 
cause they  so  exhibited  certain  of  the  Doctor's  traits.     I  may 
be  pardoned  for  relating  some  of  them.    We  took  with  us  two 
of  the  most  experienced  guides  of  that  region,  men  skilled  in 
woodcraft,  who  had  lived  among  those  mountains  most  of 
their  lives.     But  as  for  being  guided  by  them  in  the  sense  of 
saying  '  Go  ahead,  and  I  will  follow,'  the  Doctor  evidently  had 
no  such  idea.     From  the  hour  that  we  set  out  he  insisted  on 
knowing  the  why  and  wherefore  of  every  turn  that  was  made 
through  the  whole  journey.    Their  statements  as  to  the  course 
we  were  pursuing  he  invariably  verified  by  the  compass.    And 
when  his  judgment  and  theirs,  as  to  the  way  to  take  at  any 
point,  crossed,  as  not  infrequently  happened,  they  had  to  jus- 
tify their  view  to  his  complete  satisfaction  before  he  would 
accept  it.     Indeed,  it  was  just  about  the  same  as  if  he  had 
been  alone.     At  one  time  we. went  a  little  astray,  and  it  was 
necessary  to  take  a  considerable  look  about  us  before  proceed- 
ing.    I  did  all  I  could  to  get  the  Doctor  to  sit  still  and  rest 
while  the  guides  took  the  observations  the  case  called  for. 
But  no,  he  could  not  delegate  such  a  matter  as  finding  out  the 
way  to  go  right,  and  so  he  went  clambering,  here  and  there, 


ILLNESS   ON   THE   MAKCIL  501 

over  the  rocks  and  fallen  timber  (it  was  an  exceedingly  rough 
place),  charged  with  the  whole  responsibility  of  the  situation, 
till  the  problem  was  solved.  The  exertion  he  had  made,  how- 
ever, brought  on  presently  a  hemorrhage  to  which  he  was  sub- 
ject. I  knew  nothing  of  it  till,  as  he  walked  before  me  he 
turned  and  said, 'Look  here,'  and  showed  me  a  mouthful  of 
blood  he  had  just  thrown  out  upon  the  ground.  'We  must 
stop  at  once,'  I  said.  '  No,  no,'  he  answered  ;  '  don't  tell  the 
guides.  It  is  nothing  serious,  and  I  had  rather  move  along.' 
But  by  the  time  we  stopped  to  go  into  camp  he  was  very 
weak.  During  the  night  he  continued  to  raise  blood,  and  grew 
feverish,  and  slept  hardly  at  all ;  and,  as  if  to  complete  the 
misery  of  his  plight,  it  came  on  to  rain.  In  the  morning  he 
found  himself  quite  unable  to  jiroceed.  I  was  in  utter  dis- 
tress, and  did  not  know  what  to  do,  for  we  were  miles  from 
any  house.  It  looked  as  if  he  might  die  there.  But  after 
lying  still  under  the  bough-shelter  tlirough  the  day,  telling  me 
all  the  while  not  to  worry,  toward  evening  he  began  to  revive 
and  feel  a  good  deal  better,  and  that  night  he  rested.  In  the 
morning  he  rose  and  stirred  about  a  little,  and  said, '  Well,  I'm 
on  my  feet  again.  We'll  march  to-day.'  Of  course  I  had  no 
notion,  under  the  circumstances,  of  his  marching  anywhere 
but  straight  back  home  by  the  shortest  route,  and  in  some  way 
I  implied  that.  Whereupon,  to  my  equal  surprise  and  dismay, 
he  exclaimed,  'No,  indeed;  we  are  not  going  back;  we  are 
going  on — unless  you  give  out.'  And,  accordingly,  on  we 
went,  and  travelled  three  whole  days  more,  and  accomplished 
what  we  set  out  to  do  before  we  returned." 

In  the  year  1869,  many  articles  of  his  were  printed  in 
Hours  at  Jlome,— -one  on  "Progress;"  and  the  series  of  essays 
on  tlie  "Moral  Uses  of  Dark  Things"  was  begun.  Another, 
still,  was  entitled  "  Our  Gospel  a  Gift  to  the  Imagination," 
which  seems  to  me  to  be  one  of  the  ablest  and  noblest  of  all 
his  essays. 

His  theory,  that  language  is  utterly  inadequate  to  serve  the 
uses  of  religious  dogma,  is  vigorously  set  forth  in  it. 

The  following  paraphrases  and  quotations  may  serve  to  in- 
dicate his  line  of  thought : — 


502  LIFE   OF   HORACE   BUSHNELL. 

"  The  Christian  gospel  is  pictorial.  Its  every  line  or  lineament  is 
traced  in  some  image  or  metaphor,  and  no  ingenuity  can  get  it  away 
from  metaphor.  No  animal  ever  understood  a  metaphor.  That  belongs 
to  man  as  a  creature  of  intelligence,  by  virtue  of  his  power  to  see  in  all 
images  the  faces  of  truth  and  to  read  their  meaning.  All  the  truths  of 
religion  are  given  by  images ;  all  God's  revelation  is  made  to  the  imagi- 
nation ;  and  all  the  rites,  and  services,  and  ceremonies  of  the  olden  times 
were  only  a  preparation  of  draperies  and  figures  for  what  was  to  come, 
— tlie  basis  of  words  sometime  to  be  used  as  metaphors  of  the  Christian 
grace. 

"  Christ  is  '  God's  last  metaphor !'  '  tlie  express  image  of  God's  per- 
son !'  and  when  we  have  gotten  all  the  metaphoric  meanings  of  his  life 
and  death,  all  that  is  expressed  and  bodied  in  his  person  of  God's 
saving  help,  and  new-creating,  sin-forgiving,  reconciling  love,  the  sooner 
we  dismiss  all  speculations  on  the  literalities  of  his  incarnate  miracles, 
his  derivation,  the  composition  of  his  person,  his  suflFering — plainly  tran- 
scendent as  regards  our  possible  understanding— the  wiser  we  shall  be 
in  our  discipleship. 

"Nothing  makes  infidels  more  surely  than  the  sijinning,  splitting, 
nerveless  refinements  of  theology.  This  endeavor,  to  get  the  truths  of 
religion  away  from  the  imagination,  into  propositions  of  the  speculative 
understanding,  makes  a  most  dreary  and  sad  history.  . .  .  They  were  plants 
alive  and  in  flower,  but  now  the  flavors  are  gone,  the  juices  are  dried, 
and  the  skeleton  parts  packed  away  and  classified  in  the  dry  herbarium 
called  theology.  .  .  . 

"  Scientific  theology  will  be  completely  thought  out  '  about  the  same 
time  that  words  are  substituted  for  algebraic  notations,  and  poetry  re- 
duced to  the  methods  of  the  calculus  or  the  logarithmic  tables.' 

"All  atterajats  to  think  out  the  cross  and  have  it  in  dogmatic  state- 
ment have  resulted  only  in  disagreement  and  distraction.  If  we  un- 
dertake to  make  a  science  out  of  the  altar  metaphors,  it  will  be  no 
Gospel  that  we  make,  but  a  poor,  dry  jargon  rather  —  a  righteousness 
that  makes  nobody  righteous,  a  justice  satisfied  by  injustice,  a  mercy 
on  the  basis  of  pay,  a  penal  deliverance  that  keeps  on  foot  all  the 
penal  liabilities." 

Tlie  essay  concludes  with  a  masterly  comparison  of  Tur- 
retin  and  Bunyan,  one  a  great  expounder  in  the  school  of 
dogma,  and  the  other  a  teacher  by  and  before  the  imagina- 
tion. 

"  The  venerable  dogmatizer  is  already  far  gone  by,  .  .  .  but  the  glori- 
ous Bunyan  fire  still  burns,  because  it  is  fire,  kindles  the  world's  imagi- 
nation more  and  more,  and  claims  a  right  to  live  till  the  sun  dies  out  in 
the  sky.     Ilis  Pilgrim  holds  on  his  way  still  fresh  and  strong  as  ever. 


PREFACE  TO  "WOMAN  SUFFRAGE."  503 

nay,  fresher  and  stronger  than  ever,  never  to  be  put  off  the  road  till  the 
last  traveller  heavenward  is  conducted  in." 

At  this  time  the  small  volume  on  "Woman  Suffrage"  was 
written.  How  much  effect  the  argument  has  had  in  the  gen- 
eral discussion,  I  know  not,  but  the  description  of  it,  in  his 
title,  as  a  "  Reform  against  Nature  "  made  a  hard  hit.  That 
phrase  got  abroad,  and  wrought  effectually. 

But  there  is  nothing  in  the  book  more  worthy  of  insertion 
here  than  the  Preface. 

"  For  once  I  "will  dare  to  break  open  one  of  the  customary  seals  of  si- 
lence, by  inscribing  this  little  book  to  the  woman  I  know  best  and  most 
thoroughly ;  having  been  overlapped,  as  it  were,  and  curtained  in  the 
same  consciousness  for  the  last  thirty-six  years.  If  she  is  offended  that 
I  do  it  without  her  consent,  I  hope  she  may  get  over  the  offence  shortly, 
as  she  has  a  great  many  others  that  were  worse.  She  has  been  with  me 
in  many  weaknesses  and  some  storms,  giving  strength  alike  in  both ; 
sharp  enough  to  see  my  foults,  faithful  enough  to  expose  them,  and  con- 
siderate enough  to  do  it  wisely:  shrinking  never  from  loss,  or  Ijlame,  or 
shame  to  be  encountered  in  anything  right  to  be  done ;  adding  great 
and  high  instigations  —  instigations  always  to  good,  and  never  to  evil 
mistaken  for  good;  forecasting  always  things  bravest  and  best  to  be 
done,  and  supplying  inspirations  enough  to  have  made  a  hero,  if  they 
had  not  lacked  the  timber.  If  I  have  done  anything  well,  she  has  been 
the  more  really  in  it  that  she  did  not  know  it,  and  the  more  willingly 
also  that  having  her  part  in  it  known  has  not  occurred  to  her ;  compel- 
ling me  thus  to  honor  not  less,  but  more,  the  covert  glory  ot  the  woman- 
ly nature;  even  as  I  obtain  a  distincter  and  more  Avonderiug  apprehen- 
sion of  the  divine  meanings,  and  moistenings,  and  countless,  unbought 
ministries  it  contributes  to  this  otherwise  very  dry  world." 

In  the  month  of  March  he  preached  an  extremely  interest- 
ing sermon  before  the  Connecticut  Sunday-school  Teachers' 
Convention,  the  title  of  which  w\as,  "  God's  Thoughts  fit 
Bread  for  Children."  He  warmly  advocated  the  "  Moravian 
way  "  of  training  children  largely  by  the  singing"  of  hymns 
that  centre  in  Christ.  He  would  organize  a  "  discipleship  in 
hosannas,"  and  put  children  through  "  chants,  litanies,  son- 
nets, holy  madrigals,  and  doxologies — such  and  so  many,  and 
so  full  of  Christ's  dear  love,  that  they  w^ill  sing  Christ  into 
their  hearts." 

With  respect  to  preaching  to  children,  he  said : — 

33 


504  LIFE   OF  HORACE  BUSIIXELL. 

"We  get  occupied  with  great  and  high  subjects  that  require  a  hand- 
ling too  heavy  and  deep  for  children,  and  become  so  fooled  in  our 
estimate  of  -what  we  do,  that  yve  call  it  coming  down  when  we  un- 
dertake the  preaching  to  children ;  whereas  it  is  coming  up  rather, 
out  of  the  subterranean  hills,  darknesses,  intricacies,  and  dungeon-like 
profundities  of  old,  grown-up  sin,  to  speak  to  the  bright,  daj'light 
creatures  of  trust,  and  sweet  affinities,  and  easy  convictions.  .  .  .  Preach- 
ing only  to  grown-up  people  is  much  as  if  we  were  to  set  our  minis- 
try to  a  preaching  only  to  bachelors.  We  dry  up  in  this  manner, 
and  our  thought  wizens  in  a  certain  pomp  of  pretence  that  is  hollow, 
and  not  Gospel." 

In  March,  1870,  the  Eev.  Geo.  B.  Spalding  resigned  his  pas- 
torate of  tlie  Park  Church,  and  was  succeeded  bj  the  Rev.  N. 
J.  Burton,  D.D.,  who  for  many  years  had  lived  in  neighbor- 
liood  and  intimacy  with  Dr.  Bushnell.  This  choice  of  Dr. 
Burton  by  the  Park  Church  was  exceedingly  grateful  to  Dr. 
Bushnell,  since  it  gave  him  for  his  successor  in  the  ministry, 
and  for  the  pastor  of  his  family,  one  of  his  most  intimate  and 
valued  friends. 

In  June  Dr.  Bushnell  preached  the  installation  sermon  of 
Pev.  Washington  Gladden,  at  N^orth  Adams,  Mass.,  and  short- 
ly afterwards  made  an  address  at  the  Commencement  of  Wil- 
liams College.  In  July  he  delivered  an  address  on  "  ]S"ew 
Education,"  before  the  Sheffield  Scientific  School  at  New 
Haven. 

During  the  three  months'  absence  of  the  pastor  of  the  Sec- 
ond Church  of  Hartford,  Dr.  Bushnell  supplied  his  pulpit, 
preaching  regularly  each  Sunday  morning.  The  manner  of 
his  administration  of  the  Lord's  Supper  there  was  long  re- 
membered with  tender  interest.  During  all  these  years  he 
was  not  infrequently  found  preaching  in  the  pulpits  of  the 
Park,  Second,  and  Asylum  Hill  churches,  where  he  was  rev- 
erenced and  listened  to  as  a  proj^het  and  apostle.  His  phys- 
ical feebleness  only  served  to  excite  an  affectionate  pity,  and 
to  show,  by  way  of  contrast,  his  unabated  mental  vigor  and 
spiritual  energy.  It  sometimes  seemed,  while  he  spake,  as  if 
a  superior  and  more  than  mortal  power  was  in  him.  It  was 
evident  tliat,  while  his  outward  man  was  daily  perishing,  his 
inward  man  was  dailv  renewed. 


SERMONS  ON  LIVING  SUBJECTS.  505 

In  the  autumn  of  the  same  year  he  also  preached  several 
times  for  Dr.  Storrs,  of  Brooklyn.  In  1871  he  spent  several 
weeks  in  New  Haven,  and  preached  repeatedly  in  the  College 
chapel.  One  sermon  on  the  text,  "  His  bones  are  full  of  the 
sin  of  his  youth,"  was  listened  to  by  the  young  men  with 
breathless  attention,  and  was  eagerly  discussed  among  them 
afterwards.  The  same  year  he  prepared  for  publication  a 
new  volume  of  sermons,  which  was  issued  the  next  year  un- 
der the  title  of  "  Sermons  on  Living  Subjects."  One  of 
these,  in  which  he  was  particularly  interested — "  The  En- 
thronement of  the  Lamb  " — had  been  preached  to  two  con- 
gregations in  Hartford,  and  may  be  said  .to  contain  a  most 
masterly  and  satisfactory  statement  of  his  distinctive  doc- 
trine concerning  Christ's  mediation.  Another  of  these  ser- 
mons, remarkable  alike  for  its  beauty  and  for  its  catholic 
treatment  of  the  subject,  was  on  the  Virgin  Mary.  It  was 
first  read  to  a  small  circle  of  friends  in  my  house,  and  after- 
wards preached  in  the  South,  Park,  and  Asylum  Hill  churches. 
It  was  the  last  sermon  which  Dr.  Bushnell  ever  publicly  de- 
livered, and  the  following  account  of  its  delivery  (evidently 
written  by  Dr.  Burton)  will  be  read  with  interest : — 

"  ]\Iary,  the  Mother  of  Jesus." 

"  Dr.  Bushnell  delivered  his  discourse  on  the  above  topic  in  the  Park 
Church,  yesterday  morning,  before  a  large  and  sympathetic  assembly. 
The  Doctor  is  already  just  past  his  threescore  and  ten,  and  much  in- 
tense mind-work,  long  continued,  has  somewhat  broken  in  upon  his 
stanch  physique ;  but  his  wonderful  brain  retains  all  its  fine  quality  and 
fertility,  and  gives  every  promise  of  standing  intact  and  full-girded  for- 
ever. And  so  the  above  sermon  moved  forward  in  rhythms  and  tender- 
nesses, and  great  outreaches  of  thought  and  fine  plays  of  imagination, 
with  loving  reverences  intermingled,  entirely  characteristic  and  not  easy 
to  be  forgotten,  reminding  one  first  of  the  days  when  he  held  the  pulpit 
of  the  Park  Church  as  a  throne  of  power,  as  also  of  those  other  and  sad 
days — may  they  long  delay ! — when  this  great  voice,  so  long  among  us, 
shall  be  silenced,  and  we  who  have  been  charmed  by  it  shall  go  mourn- 
ing forever  for  the  dear  familiar  sound  of  it.  The  ties  between  afoithful 
preacher  and  his  people  are  very  sacred  and  indestructible ;  and  if,  as  in 
Dr.  Bushnell's  case,  the  entire  thinking  world  have  been  his  people,  by 
what  a  throng  are  his  eartlily  steps  attended,  and  with  what  a  meaning 
shall  '  his  works  follow  him '  as  his  eternal  life  unfolds  !" 


506  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

In  1872  he  put  forth  call  his  energies  to  secure  a  right  lo- 
cation and  a  befitting  plan  for  the  new  State  Capitol  to  be 
erected  in  Hartford.  The  Connecticut  Legislature  of  1871 
passed  a  resolution  appropriating  the  sum  of  five  hundred 
thousand  dollars  for  a  new  State-house  in  Hartford,  provided 
the  city  of  Hartford  would  give  an  equal  amount  and  also 
provide  a  site.  A  State  Commission  of  five  gentlemen  was 
appointed  with  authority  to  build  a  State-house,  and  they 
were  instructed  to  confer  with  the  proper  authorities  of  Hart- 
ford, and  with  them  determine  the  building  site. 

The  city  government  voted  the  necessary  sum  of  money, 
and  selected  the  west  end  of  the  City  Park.  But  Dr.  Bush- 
nell  strenuously  opposed  this  selection.  When  charged  with 
inconsistency  by  some  who  remembered  that  when  he  labor- 
ed to  secure  the  Park,  one  of  his  reasons  was,  that  it  would 
one  day  be  crowned  by  a  new  State-house,  he  snapped  his 
fingers  at  that  consistency  which  never  grows  wiser,  said  he 
was  several  sizes  bigger  than  formerly,  and  pushed  his  ob- 
jections. He  had  little  support  or  sympathy.  The  State 
Commission  looked  over  the  grounds,  heard  his  objections, 
and  unanimously  decided  against  him,  and  accepted  the  Park 
site.  All  the  newspapers  of  the  city,  and  an  overwhelming 
majority  of  the  citizens,  were  opposed  to  his  suggestions, 
which  involved  the  outlay  of  at  least  two  hundred  thousand 
dollars.  ISTothing  daunted,  he  set  as  resolutely  to  work  as  so 
sick  a  man  could.  He  drew  np  a  petition,  and  gained  numer- 
ous and  influential  signatures  to  it,  requesting  the  Common 
Council  to  allow  a  meeting  in  the  City  Hall  to  discuss  the 
advisability  of  offering  another  site  (known  to  Hartford  as 
the  Seymour-Catlin  lot)  to  the  Commission.  Just  then,  as  if 
he  had  not  enough  to  contend  with,  came  the  Chicago  fire, 
impoverishing  Hartford  as  well  as  Chicago.  Could  he  ex- 
pect Hartford  now  to  buy  a  lot  for  two  hundred  thousand 
dollars,  when  it  had  one  to  give,  which  most  of  the  people 
preferred  to  any  other  ?  The  matter  rested  uneasily  for  some 
two  months,  during  which  time  the  Doctor  was  winning  con- 
verts privately,  although  his  petition  and  remonstrance  were 
treated,with  downright  opposition  in  the  press.     In  January, 


WOKK  FOR  THE   STATE   CAPITOL.  507 

1872,  a  public  meeting  was  called  for  tlie  purpose  of  givinii- 
him  a  liearing,  though  no  one  dreamed  that  any  change  would 
come  of  it.  We  had  forgotten  what  was  in  him,  A  few 
days  before  I  met  him  on  the  street,  and  he  said,  "  If  I  had 
only  a  few  grains  of  strength  left,  I  would  grapple  with  this 
business  and  overthrow  it."  I  replied,  "  Do  not  distress  your- 
self, Doctor;  for,  though  you  had  an  archangel's  strength, 
you  could  not  accomplish  such  a  miracle."  I  can  see  him 
now,  as  he  turned  wearily  away,  and  M'alked  on  under  his 
])urden. 

But  the  evening  of  the  7th  of  January  found  him  in  Cen- 
tral Ilall,  charging  down  upon  that  settled  and  accepted  mis- 
take, in  a  speech  that  will  never  be  forgotten  by  those  who 
heard  it.  It  was  simply  irresistible — cogent,  witty,  good-nat- 
ured, convincing,  and  closing  in  a  strain  of  singular  pathos 
and  eloquence.  The  Courant,  next  morning,  reported  it  ful- 
ly, and  cautiously  swung  into  the  line  of  approval.  A  pro- 
found impression  was  made  upon  the  entire  community. 
That  speech  saved  Hartford  from  committing  a  terrible 
blunder.  There  was  one  wise  man  in  this  city.  A  few^ 
words  may  tell  the  result.  Dr.  Bushnell's  plan  was  not 
adopted.  Just  then  it  occurred  to  Mr.  A.  E.  Burr,  the  editor 
of  the  Hartford  Times,  to  say  that  the  ideal  site  for  a  Capi- 
tol was  that  occupied  by  Trinity  College,  adjoining  the  West 
Park.  His  suggestion  was  approved,  and  everybody  agreed 
that  the  true  location  was  now  discovered.  Could  it  be  pur- 
chased ?  A  public  committee  was  appointed  to  ascertain  and 
report.  Dr.  Bushnell  heartily  approved  this  plan.  On  the 
16th  of  March  the  committee  reported  on  what  terms  the 
property  could  be  obtained,  and  recommended  its  purchase 
for  the  sum  of  six  hundred  thousand  dollars !  A  few  days 
later  a  popular  vote  of  the  citizens  authorized  its  purchase, 
and  the  thing  that  should  have  been  done  was  done. 

One  day  not  long  before  his  death.  Dr.  Bushnell  stood  near 
the  rising  walls  of  the  new  Capitol,  conversing  with  a  gentle- 
man, who  said, ''  Doctor,  do  you  remember  how,  twenty  years 
ago,  in  a  speech  before  the  Common  Council  of  the  city,  in 
which  you  were  pleading  for  a  city  Park  to  be  made  out  of 


50S  LIFE  OF  HORACE   BUSIINELL. 

the  filthiest  part  of  Hartford,  lying  along  Little  Eiver,  you 
described  what  might  be  here  in  the  future  —  a  beautiful 
Park,  skirted  by  a  pleasant  roadway,  with  a  church  facing  it 
on  Asylum  Street,  and  yonder  western  hill  crowned  with  a 
noble  Capitol ?"  "Yes,"  said  the  Doctor.  "Behold  and  see 
your  vision  fulfilled  !  Here  is  your  Park,  than  which  there 
is  none  lovelier  in  ISTew  England.  Yonder  is  the  beautiful 
Gothic  church  of  your  own  parish  facing  it  from  over  the 
river,  and  here  is  rising  the  noble  Capitol  to  crown  the  west- 
ern hill !" 

TJie  entire  scene,  one  of  the  fairest  in  our  land, — the  Park, 
the  church,  the  Capitol, — is  Dr.  Bushnell's  lasting  memorial, 
'•  Si  quiieris  monumentum,  circumspice  !" 

Daring  all  those  years,  while  his  life  was,  by  reason  of 
ill  health,  often  a  secluded  one,  and  his  adventures  those  of 
the  study  chiefly,  he  allowed  himself  by  no  means  to  be  cir- 
cumscribed within  the  narrow  bounds  of  a  mere  studious  or 
domestic  life.  His  mind  sought  afiiliation  with  the  outside 
world  all  the  more  eagerly  because  of  his  seclusion,  and  there 
was  nothing  going  on  in  the  great  world  of  affairs  in  which 
he  did  not  take  a  practical  interest.  The  engineering  of  the 
great  railroad  lines  across  the  continent  was  a  favorite  study 
with  him.  The  ten  large  and  finely  illustrated  volumes  of 
Eeports'^f  tlie  "Explorations  for  a  Kailroad  Eoute  from  the 
Mississippi  Kiver  to  the  Pacific  Ocean,"  published  by  the 
United  States  government,  were  sent  him  by  a  friend  in 
Congress ;  and  from  these  he  gathered  a  vividly  real  knowl- 
edo-e  of  the  regions  explored,  and  used  to  talk  about  them  as 
if  he  had  been  there.  The  Eeport  of  "  Explorations  and  Sur- 
veys for  a  Ship-Canal  across  the  Isthmus  of  Darien  "  furnish- 
ed a  study  over  which  he  spent  absorbed  and  even  exciting 
hours.  He  had  all  the  different  proposed  routes  and  their 
levels  as  clearly  mapped  in  his  head  as  if  he  had  made  the 
surveys  himself,  having  also  in  mind  the  difficulties  and  dan- 
gers and  comi3arative  cost  of  the  four  or  five  lines,  and,  after 
long  study  and  comparison,  he  made  up  his  mind  on  which 
route  he  would  lay  out  the  canal.  A  man  to  whom  the 
wdiole  work  was  committed  could  hardly  have  been  more 


STUDY   OF   THE   \yOKLD   AT  LARGE.  509 

deeply  in  earnest  about  it.  This  is  but  one  illustration  of 
the  way  in  which  his  mind  took  wings,  refusing  ever  to  be 
captive  for  a  moment.  Books  of  geography  and  travel  were 
only  another  means  of  mental  locomotion.  lie  was  at  one 
time  in  Africa  on  a  hunt  with  Baker,  or  with  Livingston  ea- 
gerly searching  for  the  sources  of  the  Nile.  It  was  his  explo- 
ration, and  he  had  his  own  guesses  and  theories.  At  such  a 
time  his  whole  family  might  be  said  to  live  in  Africa,  so  thor- 
oughly was  his  mind  enveloped  in  its  atmosphere,  and  so  viv- 
idly did  he  communicate  his  sense  of  it  to  others.  Again,  it 
was  in  China  that  he  travelled,  becoming  easily  acquainted 
with  its  sphinx-like  people,  their  arts,  their  crops,  their  cus- 
toms, and  their  schools ;  he  learned  the  geography  of  the 
great  continent,  and  never  rested  till  he  had  an  Orient  in  his 
brain,  almost  as  distinct  to  him  as  the  "Western  World  he  lived 
in.  He  also  kept  pace,  as  he  had  opportunity,  with  the  latest 
discoveries  of  science,  profoundly  interested  in  their  influence 
upon  religious  thought,  and  with  no  jealousy  whatever  that  a 
true  knowledge  of  God's  laws  could  be  aught  but  subservient 
to  his  truth.  So  he  kept  himself  alive  and  alert,  never  drows- 
ing into  the  rust  or  decay  of  disease ;  and  hence  his  very  move- 
ment was  elastic  and  enterprising,  like  that  of  one  who  travels. 

In  the  month  of  July,  1873,  Mr.  Ralph  Burkett,  a  spiritual 
son  of  Dr.  Bushnell,  and  one  who  especially  appreciated  and 
supported  him,  died  of  a  disease  much  resembling  that  of  the 
Doctor.  A  few  days  before  his  death  he  was  moved  to  joy 
and  praise  by  the  following  letter  which  had  been  received 
from  the  man  he  loved  so  well : — 

Ripton,Vt.,  July  25, 1873. 

I  understand  that  you  have  returned  to  Hartford  as  the 
place  to  be  of  your  departure.  I  am  sorry  to  be  away,  but  I 
do  not  know  that  you  have  special  need  of  me-.  You  know 
where  the  gate  is,  and  will  not  wait  for  any  one  to  show  you 
in,  where  your  own  thoughts  have  been  so  often  pushing  in, 
and  are  grown  so  familiar  with  the  place.  I  am  waiting  there 
more  than  ever  now,  myself,  and  you  will  scarcely  have  room 
to  turn  around  before  I  am  with  you. 

Well,  what  regrets  have  w^e,  that  we  are  crowded  on  so  close 


510  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

upon  the  verge  ?  It  has  been  a  great  thing  for  us  to  live ;  and 
if  you  feel  as  I  do,  you  will  seem  to  see  that  everything  has 
been  done  to  get  you  ready. 

The  most  affecting  and  the  most  impressive  thing  of  all,  to 
me,  is  that  so  much  has  been  done  for  me.  Is  there  anything 
better  to  think  of  now,  than  that  God  is  God,  and  is  ours? 
"Whom  else  have  we  in  heaven  or  on  earth,  and  whom  else  do 
we  want  ? 

Oh,  the  unspeakable  greatness  of  a  life  related  to  God — 
a  life  in  God's  affinities,  and  capable  of  so  high  a  friend- 
ship! 

All  the  other  things  of  our  being — our  successes,  assurances, 
participations — are  now  very  insignificant;  and  to  be  with 
Christ,  and  rest  with  him  where  he  rests,  how  full,  and  free, 
and  tender  is  this  hope !  As  your  time  draws  near,  may  God 
himself  draw  near,  and  make  your  soul  so  strong  that  you 
shall  not  ask  for  peace,  or,  indeed,  for  anything  but  himself. 

If  I  return  before  you  go,  I  shall  be  with  you. 

Yours  in  the  love  of  God,  IIokace  Bushnell. 

Dr.  Bushnell's  faithful  attendance  and  participation  in  the 
weekly  Hartford  ministers'  meeting,  and  in  the  bimonthly 
sessions  of  the  Hartford  Central  Association,  deserve  a  pass- 
ing notice.  The  ministers'  meeting,  originally  held  in  Dr. 
Hawes's  quaint  old  study,  and  afterwards  in  the  chapels  of  the 
Pearl  Street  and  Centre  churches,  has  been,  for  twenty  years 
at  least,  the  place  of  free,  familiar,  social,  cordial,  clerical  fel- 
lowship. AVliat  delightful  and  even  merry  scenes  have  been 
witnessed  therein  !  What  fervent  prayers,  what  rich  instruc- 
tion, what  cordial  reciprocations  of  good-will,  what  skilful  fen- 
cing and  stout  wrestling  too,  what  thrusts  and  parries,  what 
genial  pleasantries  and  side-splitting  jokes,  wliat  tender  coun- 
sellings,  what  harmonious  doxologies  in  which  all  discords  of 
discussion  ended  !  There  Turnbull,  and  Beadle,  and  Hawes, 
and  Bushnell,  who  with  others  have  gone  into  rest,  contrib- 
uted of  their  diverse  goods.  There  scores  of  dear  souls  still 
living  on  the  earth,  but  scattered  hence,  were  gathered. 
Thither,  every  Monday  morning,  punctually  too,  came  the 


MINISTERIAL   MEETINGS.  511 

greatest  and  wisest  of  thein  all.  lie  always  sat  in  the  same 
seat.  It  was  no  higher  than  that  in  which  the  weakest 
brother  sat.  Alas  that  it  did  not  then  occur  to  us  to  play 
the  reporter  for  him,  and  make  some  record  of  the  innumer- 
able bright,  brilliant  coruscations  of  his  playful  and  of  his 
more  serious  genius !  How  often  have  we  seen  that  meeting 
convulsed  with  laughter  at  some  sudden  sally  of  his  wit — 
grave  Dr.  Ilawcs  unbending  with  the  rest,  though  not  with- 
out vain  resistance !  How  often  have  we  beheld  it  hanging, 
still,  rapt,  and  solemn,  on  his  eloquent  lips,  as  he  spoke  in 
deep,  mystic  strains  of  the  Lord  and  of  his  love  !  There,  as 
everywhere  and  always,  he  was  completely  unconscious  of 
his  greatness.  It  was  veiled  in  humility.  ISTothing  in  dress, 
demeanor,  or  carriage  denoted  superiority.  It  was  his  speech 
that  betrayed  him.  Then  his  distinctive  traits  were  noted — 
the  positive  and  intense  opinion  launched  in  bolts  of  language 
that  flashed  as  they  flew ;  the  grotesque  remark  that  suddenly 
came  from  far  away,  like  a  bomb-shell,  to  explode  and  scatter 
idle  pretensions;  the  coinage  of  words  that  made., old  things 
new ;  the  bright-gleaming  scimitar  strokes  of  wit  that  some- 
times beheaded  a  fallacy  so  deftly  that  a  little  joggling  was 
necessary  to  discover  the  decapitation.  Not  anywhere,  in  his 
most  eloquently  written  pages,  is  his  power  of  inspiration 
more  remarkable  than  it  often  was  in  these  congenial  circles 
of  his  brethren. 

Dr.  Bushnell  was  one  of  the  original  members  of  the  Mon- 
day Evening  Club,  which  was  formed  for  purposes  of  intel- 
lectual commerce  in  the  winter  of  1868.  Clergymen,  lawyers, 
literary  men,  editors,  and  business  men  were  brought  together 
fortnightly  for  an  exchange  of  thought  upon  selected  topics, 
and,  so  long  as  his  health  permitted,  he  was  among  them. 
Some  of  his  discoursings  are  vividly  remembered.  One 
night  he  spoke  of  the  Future  of  Christianity  in  a  strain  of 
eloquence  that  seemed  to  many  members  to  surpass  anything 
they  had  heard.  Another  night  he  fell  upon  Compte,  and 
proceeded  against  him  in  such  a  humorous  way  of  annihila- 
tion as  would  have  amused  the  pseudo-philosopher  himself, 
even  while  in  the  process  of  dissolution.    He  had  the  pithiest 


512  LIFE   OF   HORACE   BUSHNELL. 

way  of  plirasing  a  criticism,  and  his  flashes  of  wit  often 
hinged  on  an  unexpected  comparison. 

Of  a  certain  proposition  involving  two  ministers  in  col- 
league relations,  he  said  it  was  unscriptural.  But  why? 
''  Because  it  is  forbidden  to  yoke  an  ox  with  an  ass !" 

Indulging  himself  in  a  humorous  exaggeration,  he  said  of 
the  pastors  of  the  churches  in  three  city,  that  "  one  was  grace 
Avithout  brains  ;  another,  brains  without  grace  ;  and  the  third, 
without  either."  One  of  the  victims  was  fond  of  repeating 
this  story. 

An  enthusiastic  friend  met  him  one  morning  with  the  re- 
mark,— "  Doctor,  what  a  pity  it  is  that  such  a  man  as  you 
are  should  not  live  forever !"  The  reply  came  quickly, — 
"  Cleaveland,  the  world  couldn't  stand  it !" 

Meeting  one  who  had  just  come  from  the  ministers'  meet- 
ing, he  inquired  what  was  under  discussion.     "  AVorldliness," 

was  the  answer.     "  And  who  is  speaking  ?"     "  Brother ." 

"  Well,"  rejoined  the  Doctor,  "  he  knows  about  it." 

It  is  well  known  to  his  friends  that  he  looked  back  with 
regret  on  some  controversial  passages  of  his  history,  and  ex- 
pressed sorrow  for  certain  sharp  attacks  upon  the  Baptists 
and  Episcopalians. 

One  day  he  met  the  Eev.  Mr.  Twichell  and  myself  in  a 
book-store,  where  we  fell  into  conversation  upon  the  volume 
just  then  published,  in  which  the  Rev.  Dr.  Miller,  of  Prince- 
ton, had  severely  criticised  the  theology  of  that  region.  We 
had  hastily  assumed  that  he  would  be  pleased,  or  at  least 
amused,  by  this  insurrection  against  orthodoxy  in  the  very 
head-quarters  of  it.  We  were  both  surprised  and  rebuked 
when  he  said  that  the  book  would  effect  nothing, /br  it  ivas 
written  in  a  had  sjnrit. 

Some  one  told  him  that  the  citizens  of  Hartford  would 
surely  erect  a  statue  of  him  on  the  Park,  and  inquired  where 
he  would  choose  to  have  such  a  statue  located.  He  stop- 
ped, looked  all  about,  and  then,  pointing  with  his  cane,  said, 
"  Down  under  the  bridge  yonder !" 

He  disliked  to  hear  the  singing  in  the  church  criticised  in 
any  manner  of  levity.     Some  needless  remarks  provoked  him 


FLASHES  OF  WIT.  513 

to  exclaim,  "  It's  worship !  and  you  might  as  well  criticise 
the  gait  of  the  scape-goat  that  bears  away  the  sins  of  the 
people !" 

In  a  discussion  some  one  suggested  tliat  oar  Lord's  decla- 
ration to  the  penitent  thief  should  be  so  punctuated  as  to 
read, — "  I  say  unto  thee  to-day,  thou  slialt  be  with  me  in  Par- 
adise." Dr.  Bushnell  slid  in  this  query, — "  I  wonder  if  he 
looked  at  his  watch !"  This  reductio  ad  ahsurduin  precipi- 
tated the  meeting  into  a  fit  of  laughter  which  could  not  be 
checked,  but  ever  and  anon  broke  forth,  so  as  to  pretty  much 
smother  all  further  discussion. 

A  somewhat  shallow-liberal  preacher  had  been  wliisking 
about  in  the  vicinity  with  considerable  bustle  and  noise. 
One  said  that  he  had  known  him  twenty  years  ago  as  a  boy 
who  did  chores  for  his  board.  "  That  is  what  he  is  doing 
now,"  said  the  Doctor,  quickly. 

It  should  not  be  inferred  from  such  things  that  Dr.  Bush- 
nell w\as  overmuch  given  to  satire  or  sarcasm.  His  blows 
fell  heavy  enough,  now  and  then,  to  make  one's  head  ache ; 
but  of  that  sour,  cynical  spirit  which  delights  and  contrives 
to  say  sharp,  cutting,  rasping  things  he  was  destitute.  He 
hated  that  spirit.  He  was  full  of  gentleness  and  tenderness 
towards  young  ministers,  and  liad  a  wonderful  way  of  making 
them  feel  quite  at  home  in  his  presence.  He  stood  on  no 
dignity,  having  his  dignity  elsewhere  than  underfoot,  and  we 
gradually  forgot  his  intellectual  superiority,  being  drawn 
rather  to  his  moral  and  spiritual  supremacy. 

One  scene  that  occurred  at  a  meeting  of  the  Association 
of  which  he  was  a  member,  will  not  soon  be  forgotten  by 
any  who  were  present.  The  Doctor  had  been  previously  ap- 
pointed to  read  a  sermon  at  tliis  meeting,  which  was  one  of 
the  last  that  he  attended.  He  was  in  very  feeble  health,  and 
the  signs  of  physical  distress  were  only  too  apparent  in  his 
speech  and  motions.  When  his  part  was  called,  he  said,  in 
a  very  subdued  and  tender  voice, — "  Brethren,  I  am  going 
to  read  you  what  is  probably  the  last  sermon  I  shall  write ;" 
and  then  he  announced  his  .subject,  —  "Our  Relations  to 
Christ  in  the  Future  Life."     In  the  circumstances,  the  mere 


514  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

announcement  of  such  a  subject  was  enough  to  put  us  all 
into  a  state  of  tender  awe.  It  did  not  seem  boldness  in  him 
to  be  thus  looking  within  the  veil.  We  felt  that  he  was  to 
speak  of  what  he  knew,  and  not  out  of  conjecture  merely. 
As  he  read  on  and  on,  we  listened  with  deepening  awe  and 
tenderness  to  the  close.  The  shadow  of  the  coming  sepa- 
ration fell  upon  us,  and  when  the  reading  ceased  there  was 
a  strange  silence.  One  by  one  the  ministers,  as  they  were 
called  upon,  declined  to  speak.  Presently  one  was  called  who 
had  long  been  intimate  with  the  Doctor,  and  when  he  shook 
his  head,  the  Doctor  said,  "  Come,  tell  us  what  yon  think  of 
it."  He  hesitated,  and  then  began, — "  Dr.  Bushnell  tells  us 
that  this — is — his — last — sermon  !"  He  could  get  no  farther, 
but  gave  way  and  broke  out  into  loud  w^ee23ing.  And  we  all 
wept  together  with  him.  It  was  like  the  parting  of  St.  Paul 
with  the  Ephesian  elders.  Then  we  knew  how  we  loved 
him,  and  what  an  unspeakable,  irreparable  loss  his  departure 
would  be  for  us, — that  departure  which  was  evidently  nigh 
at  hand.  The  dear  old  Doctor  sat  there,  calmest  of  all,  his 
deep,  dark  eyes  glistening  with  tears,  his  face  radiant  like 
Stephen's,  and  beheld  us  with  a  look  of  heavenly  grace  and 
benediction,  until  the  weeping  ceased,  and  the  Master  seemed 
to  have  made  himself  manifest  in  a  great  peace. 

The  days  thereafter,  in  which,  with  characteristic  steadfast- 
ness and  patience,  he  slowly  traversed  the  valley  of  the  shad- 
ow of  death,  and  finally  entered  into  rest,  it  is  not  for  me  to 
describe. 


CLOSING  YEARS.  515 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

BY    F.  L.   B. 

CLOSING   YEARS. 

1870-1876. 

Last  Visit  to  New  Prestou. — A  Deep  Experience. — Revisions. — Extracts 
from  a  Correspondence.  —  First  Summer  in  Ripton,  with  Letters. — 
Notes  on  Prayer. — Work  under  Limitations. — Second  and  Third  Sum- 
mers in  Ripton,  with  Letters. — "A  Vacation  with  Dr.  Bushnell,"  by 
Professor  Austin  Phelps. — His  Manifold  Interests. — Vitality  of  his  Hu- 
mor.— Publication  of  "  Forgiveness  and  Law." — Letters  concerning  it. 
— Days  of  Peace. — A  New  Work  begun. — A  Severe  Illness. — Partial 
Recovery. — Last  Letters. — Gradual  Decline. — Naming  of  the  Park. — 
Death. — Extracts  from  the  Funeral  Sermon  by  the  Rev.  Dr.  Burton. 

The  closing  years  of  Dr.  Buslinell's  life  seemed,  to  those 
who  knew  them  intimately,  almost  as  much  the  opening  years 
of  the  life  to  come.  The  twilight  was  gently  falling  on  the 
things  of  this  world,  but  already  the  day  dawned  that  was 
to  succeed  the  brief  night.  His  few  public  ministrations  of 
a  later  date  than  1870  have  found  their  true  place  in  the  fore- 
going chapter.  Though  he  showed  in  them  his  wonted  fire 
and  power,  he  was  no  longer  capable  of  sustained  effort ;  and 
the  work  he  had  to  do  for  the  world  must,  in  future,  be  done 
in  seclusion,  and  little  by  little,  as  he  was  able.  Yet  this  pe- 
riod of  detachment  was  saved  from  much  of  the  pain  that 
often  attends  it,  by  the  great  gains  he  made.  "It  was  not  a 
time  of  cessation,  as  of  a  life  that  was  going  out,  but  had  a 
work  of  its  own  and  growth  and  motion  to  the  very  end.  No 
most  labored  argument  for  immortality  could  have  been  like 
this  silent  argument  of  the  inward  man,  waxing  so  mightily 
amidst  the  waning  of  much  that  we  are  accustomed  to  regard 
as  the  physical  and  intellectual  glory  of  man.     It  was,  after 


516  LIFE   OF   HORACE   BUSHNELL. 

all,  less  an  argument  for  immortality  than  the  disclosure  of 
it,  as  something  already  begun. 

In  the  summer  of  1870,  he  spent  some  time  on  the  shore 
of  Lake  Waramaug.  To  that  beautiful  home  region,  where 
the  "earl 3^  dew"  had  fallen  upon  his  young  life,  he  turned 
the  pilgrim  steps  of  his  age,  and  again  in  life's  evening  was 
quickened  and  refreshed  from  above.  Of  this  he  writes  in 
two  letters, — the  first  to  his  wife,  the  second  to  a  daughter : — 

Warren,  August  7,  1870. 
...  I  have  had  some  delightful  times  and  passages  since  I 
came  here  such  as  I  never  had  before.  I  never  so  saw  God, 
never  had  him  come  so  broadly,  clearly  out.  He  has  not 
spoken  to  me,  but  he  has  done  what  is  more.  There  has 
been  nothing  debatable  to  speak  for,  but  an  infinite  easiness 
and  universal  presentation  to  thought,  as  it  were  hj  revela- 
tion. Nothing  ever  seemed  so  wholly  inviting  and  so  pro- 
foundly supreme  to  the  mind.  Had  there  been  a  strain  for 
it,  then  it  could  not  be.  O  my  God  !  what  a  fact  to  possess 
and  know  that  he  is !  I  have  not  seemed  to  compare  him 
with  anything,  and  set  him  in  a  higher  value ;  but  he  has 
been  the  cell,  and  the  altogether,  everywhere,  lovely.  There 
is  nothing  else  to  compete ;  there  is  nothing  else,  in  fact.  It 
has  been  as  if  all  the  revelations,  through  good  men,  nature, 
Christ,  had  been  now  through,  and  their  cargo  unloaded,  the 
capital  meaning  produced,  and  the  God  set  forth  in  his  own 
proper  day, — the  good,  the  true,  the  perfect,  the  all-holy  and 
benignant.  The  question  has  not  been  whether  I  could  some- 
how get  nearer, — nearer,  my  God,  to  thee ;  but  as  if  he  had 
come  out  himself  just  near  enough,  and  left  me  nothing  but 
to  stand  still  and  see  the  salvation ;  no  excitement,  no  stress, 
but  an  ainazing  beatific  tranquillity.  I  never  thought  I  could 
possess  God  so  completely.  What  is  to  come  of  it  ?  Some- 
thing good  and  glorious,  I  hope. 

Warreu,  August  8, 1870. 

Dear  D., — Charley  and  I  are  getting  on  finely  together, 
and  I  think,  when  I  look  in  the  glass,  that  I  am  certainly 


SPIRIT   OF   ins  LATER   LIFE.  517 

improved  much.  Still,  I  keep  my  old  enemy,  or  rather  he 
keeps  me,  and  keeps  me  2y<'ffinff*  in  a  lively  way, — the  same 
old  way. 

And  yet  I  seem  often  to  be  nearing  the  end  of  it,  wasting,  as 
it  were,  comfortably  down  upon  it.  And  as  the  body  thins, 
it  also  seems  to  grow  transparent,  and  to  let  me  see  through 
the  veil  oftener,  more  habitually  and  broadly.  How  it  is,  I 
know  not,  but  God  comes  to  me  even  when  I  do  not  go  to 
him  or  after  him, — so  great,  benignant,  pure,  and  radiant  that 
he  sinks  all  others  out  of  sight.  What  a  wonder  is  God ! 
What  a  glory  for  us  to  possess  him !  I  think  you  know 
what  the  possession  of  him  is,  and  yet  it  would  not  be  strange 
if  you  could  know  him  a  great  deal  more  and  more  easily. 
Here,  in  fact,  is  the  grand  impediment  to  his  revelation, — 
that  we  make  so  hard  a  strain  of  it.  AYhat  we  want  is  simply 
to  see.     An  unfilmed  eye  is  the  way.  .  .  . 

Henceforth  there  was  wonderfully  little  of  the  "strain" 
he  so  much  deprecated,  whether  between  him  and  his  God, 
or  between  him  and  man.  To  a  young  friend  he  said,  "  If 
I  had  my  life  to  live  over  again,  there  is  one  thing  I  would 
not  do — I  would  not  push."  Neither  did  he  wrestle  with  or 
for  the  truth  so  much  as  before ;  he  waited  rather  for  it  to 
shine.  The  strong  onward  movement  of  his  life  had  not 
ceased,  but  "  the  glorious  Lord  was  unto  him  a  place  of  broad 
rivers  and  streams,"  and  he  saw  the  great  ocean  not  afar. 
With  this  deep -hidden  current,  his  life  passed  on  through 
the  few  outward  events  of  the  following  winter,  already  nar- 
rated. This  note  of  a  conversation  had  with  him  in  the 
spring  of  1871  shows  the  direction  in  which  his  mind  was 
moving : — 

"  He  spoke  of  the  pleasure  he  finds  in  silent"  prayer,  often 
in  the  night  talking  with  God  about  the  subjects  interesting 
to  himself,  particularly  about  his  searching  for  a  fuller  un- 
derstandins:  of  the  truths  connected  with  his  doctrine  of  the 


*  A  word  for  coughing,  that  had  amused  him,  in  some  book  of  Scotch 
dialect. 


518  LIFE   OF  HORACE   BUSH^^ELL. 

Yicarioiis  Sacrifice.  Feeling  tliat  the  view  lie  has  presented 
is  insuificient,  he  designs  to  rewrite  parts  of  the  book,  and 
he  talks  over  these  points  in  his  communings,  desiring  to  be 
taught  and  guided." 

In  these  patient  seekings  of  his  mind,  we  see  him  entering 
upon  that  final  revision  of  his  opinions,  which  was  the  special 
Avork  of  his  closing  years,  and  which  was  embodied  in  his 
last  book,  "  Forgiveness  and  Law."  Yet  for  its  true  germi- 
nal idea,  we  must  go  much  farther  back  to  that  noble  ideal 
of  forgiveness,  shaped  many  years  before  with  strong  travail 
of  soul,  in  the  fires  of  hostility  and  moral  adversity.  His 
friends  saw  at  the  time  what  that  sharp  experience  was  doing 
for  his  character,  but  they  did  not  know  that  it  was  to  do 
as  much  for  his  thinking.  It  underlies  all  his  subsequent 
conceptions,  and  his  last  thought  was  built  on  it.  His  own  ■ 
recognition  of  his  debt  to  those  quickening  trials  was  ex- 
pressed with  unusual  distinctness,  in  a  correspondence  which 
he  sustained  for  some  years  with  a  stranger  in  a  distant  place, 
who  out  of  sore  troubles  had  appealed  to  him  for  the  secret 
of  strength  and  peace.  The  two  never  met,  but  the  relation- 
ship between  them  was  none  the  less  real ;  and  after  his  death, 
the  following  extracts,  wath  headings  supplied,  were  sent  by 
his  correspondent,  as  a  contribution  to  this  memoir.  Though 
they  all  show  the  spirit  of  his  later  life,  the  first,  it  will  be 
seen,  is  specially  related  to  the  subject  of  his  last  book. 

Forgiveness. 

I  see  you  are  hanging  on  the  edge  of  a  precipice.  Thank 
God  you  are  not  at  the  bottom.  Thousands  drop  into  per- 
dition from  the  crag  of  implacability.  Forgiveness  is  man's 
deepest  need  and  highest  achievement.  All  the  "  strong  and 
beautiful  things  on  forgiveness,"  which  you  so  much  admire 
in  my  books,  were  distilled  in  the  alembic  of  my  own  expe- 
rience. I  have  not  had  your  trials,  but  my  self-mastery  was 
none  the  less  heavy.  I  know  what  it  is  to  have  the  purest 
motives,  most  fervent  prayers,  and  most  incessant  labors  mis- 
apprehended and  misrepresented.  I  know  what  the  moral 
whipping-post  means.     But  I  have  found  Phil.  iv.  13  glori- 


EXTRACTS  FROM  A   CORRESPONDENCE.  519 

oiisly  true.     What  I  have  done,  or  Christ  in  me,  you  can  do 
likewise. 

Nothing  does  God  require  more  explicitly  than  a  clean  for- 
giveness. Your  provocations  are  multiplied  and  aggravated. 
The  rasp  that  is  drawn  across  your  sensibilities  without  re- 
spite for  successive  years,  is  rough  and  sharp  enough  to  re- 
quire the  concentration  of  all  the  Jobs  in  Christendom.  Be 
not  dismayed;  only  believe.  Great  trials  make  great  saints. 
Deserts  and  stone  pillows  prepare  for  an  open  heaven  and  an 
angel-crowded  ladder.  But  you  are  indeed  sorely  probed, 
and  from  the  depths  of  ray  soul  I  pity  jon.  If  this  is  any 
comfort  to  you,  let  down  your  bucket  to  the  end  of  your 
chain,  with  the  assurance  that  what  is  deepest  and  most  ten- 
der in  me  is  open  to  your  dip.  But  your  victory  rests  with 
yourself.  Kinghood  over  the  vast  territory  of  self  must  be, 
in  order  to  a  genuine  forgiveness.  To  tear  yourself  from 
yourself,  to  double  yourself  up  and  thrust  yourself  under 
your  heels,  and  make  a  general  smash  of  yourself,  and  be  all 
the  more  truly  yourself  for  this  mauling  and  self-annihila- 
tion,— this  is  the  work  before  you,  and  a  mighty  work  it  is. 
To  accomplish  this,  we  must  be  close  enough  to  Immanuel  to 
feel  the  beating  of  his  heart.  By  the  time  you  are  through 
your  struggle,  you  will  be  a  god,  fit  to  occupy  a  seat  with 
Christ  in  his  throne.  Kings  alone  can  truly  forgive,  as  kings 
alone  can  reign.  You  know  the  import  of  the  Cross.  Set 
your  heart  like  a  fiint  against  every  suggestion  that  cheapens 
the  blood  of  the  dear,  great  Lamb,  and  you  will  as  surely  get 
the  meaning  of  Christ  crucified,  as  that  he  left  his  life  in  the 
world. 

Knowledge  and  Conscience. 

You  did  us  both  wrong  in  returning  the  book  I  sent  you. 
Although  the  recital  of  your  severe  and  protracted  sufferings 
stirred  my  sympathies  as  they  have  never  before  been  stirred 
by  a  stranger,  I  gave  you  my  gift  more  as  an  expression  of 
love  than  in  consideration  of  your  destitution.  I  wanted  you 
to  have  the  book,  even  though  you  were  as  rich  as  Mr.  Stew- 
art. I  honor  your  conscientiousness,  but  v;ould  yet  more 
honor  the  illumination  of  soul  that  would  enable  you  to  enjoy 

34 


520  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSIINELL. 

the  favor  of  God,  in  keeping  what  did  my  heart  so  much 
good  to  bestow.  A  hardened  conscience  is  a  great  calamity, 
and  a  misguided  one  is  hardly  less.  A  good  conscience  main- 
tains a  great  possibility,  being,  in  a  certain  sense,  always  in 
the  line  of  righteousness,  even  if  it  never  finds  the  right.  I 
beg  you  not  to  abridge  my  divine  birthright, — the  luxury  of 
sacrifice.  'No  matter  if  you  own  the  whole  of  Pennsylvania, 
my  favor  had  its  birth  in  an  element  where  states  and  em- 
pires are  overbalanced  by  a  cup  of  cold  water.  I  thank  God 
that  the  Cross  has  been  set  up  in  the  world,  for  thereby  have 
I  learned  to  know  what  life  means.  As  it  was  in  God  before 
it  came  in  the  flesh,  I  expect  to  carry  it  through  the  gates  of 
pearl,  and  be  eternally  in  its  joy  and  power. 

Please  receive  what  I  send  you  as  you  receive  God's  un- 
speakable gift. 

Sustenance  and  Security. 

•  Your  perplexity  originates  in  a  misapprehension  of  the  fig- 
ure which  Christ  employs  in  John  x.  9.  You  ask, "  When  am 
I  in,  and  when  out  ?"  You  are  always  in  and  always  out,  if 
so  be  that  Christ  is  your  Door,  and  Fold,  and  Shepherd.  The 
figure  is  a  patched  one,  and  lets  us  into  the  mind  of  Christ, 
just  as  two  patches  of  natural  truth  can.  The  sheep  had  to 
go  out  for  pasture,  and  in  for  shelter ;  but  the  believer  is 
pastured  and  sheltered  all  the  time.  To  be  out,  as  the  sheep 
were  out,  is  to  have  no  covert  from  the  wolf.  To  be  in,  as 
the  sheep  were  in,  would  be  a  life  of  sterility  and  starvation. 
"What  was  alternate  with  the  sheep  is  simultaneous  with  the 
Christian.  AYhen  we  are  in,  we  are  out ;  and  when  out,  we 
are  in  ;  and  tliis  makes  just  as  rich,  and  sweet,  and  safe  a  life 
as  Christ  can  give. 

In  July,  1871,  he  went,  with  one  of  his  daughters,  to  Bread 
Loaf  Inn,  at  Ripton,  among  the  mountains  of  Vermont.  Be- 
fore going,  he  wrote  the  following  letter  to  his  only  remain- 
ing sister.  The  letters  from  Ripton  were  all  to  his  wife.  It 
will  be  seen  from  them  how  clear  it  was  becoming  to  him 
that  he  had  still  a  work  to  do.     For  and  by  it  he  lived.     The 


FIRST  STAY  AT  RIPTON.  521 

sense  of  sometliing  to  be  done  was  ever  to  lilni  the  most  in- 
vigorating of  medicines. 

Hartford,July  1,1871. 

My  dear  Sister, — Time  is  a  great  thief,  and,  like  most 
other  thieves,  is  always  stealing  once  more — just  this  once. 
And  yet  this  way  of  scolding  time  is  but  a  poor,  thin  pretext 
for  covering  up  our  sins.  I  acknowledge  my  sins  none  the 
less  that  I  have  let  my  recurring  obligations  to  write  slide  so 
treacherously  by.  Alwaj's  engaged,  always  pressed  —  do  it 
when  the  pressure  is  off — and  then  not  do  it ! 

For  the  last  three  months  I  have  been  going  a  rather  bad 
way, — undertook  too  much,  and  broke  down,  Now  I  am  re- 
covering just  a  little,  and  next  week  I  projDose  to  go  up  into 
the  Green  Mountains  for  the  summer.  I  have  a  work  to  do 
for  the  next  year,  and  for  that  my  prayer  is,  "one  year  more." 
Then  I  think  my  work  will  be  done,  and  I  hope  I  shall  be 
ready  to  go.  I  do  not  want  to  stay  and  wear  away  into  fee- 
bleness.    Let  me  go,  if  I  may,  with  some  sense  in  me. 

I  have  not  heard  from  you  now  for  a  long  time,  neither 
from  Horace.  I  did  hope,  when  I  was  with  you  last,  that  my 
urgent  invitation  would  draw  him  round  here  oftener  when 
he  goes  to  Kew  York.  I  feel  a  great  interest  in  his  successes, 
but  more  in  his  character ;  for,  success  or  no  success,  charac- 
ter stands,  a  kind  of  wealth  that  knows  no  failure.  I  wish  he 
would  write  me  and  tell  me  all  about  himself  and  you  ;  for  if 
I  am  a  poor  brother  in  the  matter  of  writing,  I  do  think  of 
you,  and  that  tenderly,  very  often.  I  begin  to  feel  more  and 
more  distinctly  that  we  are  nearing  home.  Will  it  not  be 
sweet  to  meet  our  dear  father  and  mother,  and  hear  them  tell 
what  discoveries  they  have  made  ? 

With  great  love,  yours,  Horace  Bushnell. 

Ripton,  July  9, 1871. 
My  dear  Wife, — I  suppose  you  will  be  looking  for  a  let- 
ter, and  I  am  not  willing  to  have  you  disappointed,  though  I 
have  nothing  specially  fresh  to  communicate,  save  my  always 
fresh  love.  This  is  Sunday  evening,  just  after  the  passing  of 
a  most  beautiful  shower.     I  like  the  place  here  very  much, 


522  LIFE   OF   HORACE  BUSIINELL. 

and  if  it  does  not  give  me  a  spring,  nothing  will.  I  have 
done  nothing  yet  but  stroll,  and  lounge,  and  cut  poles,  ex- 
pecting to-morrow  to  start  the  campaign.  This  is  a  world 
of  beautiful  brooks,  and  they  do  somehow  manage  to  catch 
good  supplies  of  trout.  However,  I  care  more  for  the  vent- 
ure than  for  the  prey ;  that  is,  if  I  can  get  force  enough  to 
bear  it. 

I  was  dreadfully  depressed  some  days  before  I  left,  and  the 
cloud  is  a  little  way  lifted,  I  think — just  enough  to  show  that 
it  can  be.  No  matter,  I  care  not  much  for  even  that,  if  I  can 
find  the  true  God's  light,  and  rest  in  it.  There  is  a  day  state 
for  the  soul,  I  am  quite  sure,  and  I  catch  some  gleams  of  it ; 
give  me  the  full  revelation,  and  I  ask  no  more.  This  shape 
my  sighs  have  mainly  taken,  and  will  take,  I  think,  for  weeks 
to  come.  Oh,  I  long  to  be  risen  from  the  dead,  and  fully 
alive  as  I  was  made  to  live !  Nothing  now  looks  captivating 
but  to  be  altogether  entered  into  God  and  quieted  in  the  in- 
spirations of  true  faith. 

Give  my  particular  love  to  M and  the  dear  children, 

and  to  F as  much  of  blessing. 

Excuse  this  poor,  sad  thing  which  is  meant  for  a  letter,  and 
think  it  one,  if  you  can, 

Ripton,  July  25, 1871. 

...  I  think,  on  the  whole,  that  I  am  gaining  a  little,  only 
not  gaining  flesh,  rather  losing  than  gaining.  But  I  feel  the 
benefit  of  a  certain  resting  state,  and  seem  to  be  getting  emp- 
tied in  it  for  a  little  more  work  when  I  take  hold  again.  I 
hope  too,  at  times,  that  I  am  getting  a  little  freshed  for  the 
matters  of  religion.  I  sometimes  have  God  very  near  me, 
and  iniaghie  that  I  hear  his  voice.  I  have  been  putting  my- 
self down  to  the  matter  by  a  more  stringent,  closer  kept  way, 
and  I  feel  the  benefit  of  it.  Taking  pains  for  God  is  good 
and  profitable  in  all  highest  liberty,  and  I  sometimes  seem  to 
touch  that  liberty.  I  most  surely  want  to  be  in  it,  not  for  my 
soul's  sake  only,  but  also  for  my  work's  sake.  How  shall  I  be 
able  to  get  insight  of  my  great  theme,  if  I  am  not  let  in  by  a 
large,  free  door  ?  It  is  also  very  encouraging  to  me  that  such 
inspirations  as  come  upon  me  do  open  my  great  field  more 


LETTERS   FROM  RIPTON.  523 

and  more.     Pray  that  I  may  be  able  to  open  more  of  the 
riches  here  than  has  yet  come  to  hand,  .  .  . 

Ripton,  August  13, 1871. 
I  am  getting  on,  I  think,  very  slowly.  I  bear  a  harder 
strain  of  exercise,  and  seem  to  be  all  the  while  more  like  ray- 
self.  I  really  hope  I  am  gaining  as  a  Christian,  which  is  bet- 
ter than  alL  God  is  not  so  far  off,  and  I  come  more  nearly 
to  rest  in  him.  My  only  discouragement  is  that  I  fall  off  so 
easily,  if  I  am  not  all  tlie  while  at  my  painstaking.  Oh,  what 
a  comfort  there  is  in  the  fact  that  God  is  a  supreme  integer, 
helping  ns  up  always  into  range  with  himself !  lie  can  put 
one  down  upon  rest  and  give  him  a  touch  of  the  everlasting 
totality,  washing  and  making  white,  promising  to  be  a  com- 
plete grace  for  us.  I  could  have  no  hope  at  all  but  for  this. 
This  is  the  righteousness  of  God  upon  all  that  believe.  Let 
me  believe,  then,  totally,  and  know  nothing  else. 

Ripton,  August  21, 1871. 

...  I  am  going  on  here  with  a  good  deal  of  satisfaction, 
and  the  hope  of  large  improvement.  I  think  my  cough  and 
my  sin  are  both  moderating  a  good  deal.  I  bear  rugged  ex- 
ercise, and  a  good  deal  of  it.  On  Wednesday  last,  I  fished  a 
bout  of  seven  miles  or  so ;  and  on  Friday,  a  longer  and  hard- 
er one  of  nine  liours  on  my  feet ;  and  when  I  reached  home 
I  was  not  specially  tired. 

I  have  a  good  many  very  sweet  hours  in  these  wood  walks 
and  climbings,  never  alone,  but  having  my  dear,  shall  I  say 
revered.  Friend  with  me.  I  had  yesterday  (Sunday)  a  de- 
lightful refreshment  in  reading,  out  of  Goethe's  "  Wilhelm 
Meister,"  vol.  i.,  the  Coiifessions  of  a  Fair  Saint.  I  never 
read  a  Christian  experience  that  so  beautifully  tallied  with 
my  own,  the  main  difference  being  that  the  Fair  Saint  never 
had  been  much  of  an  unbeliever,  save  as  her  friends,  over-strict 
in  orthodox}^,  were  obliged  to  trouble  themselves  much  on 
her  account.  I  was  never  more  struck  than  by  the  observa- 
tion, that  living  in  feeling  and  subjective  thought,  indepen- 
dently of  outward  objects  and  works,  "  tends,  as  it  were,  to 


521  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

excavate  us  and  to  undermine  the  whole  foundation  of  our 
being."  As  if  it  were  a  way  to  become  hollow  and  finally 
vacant.     Let  us  think  of  this.  .  .  . 

Yours  ever,  Hokace  Bushnell. 

During  this  summer  of  1871  and  the  preceding  spring,  a 
series  of  articles  on  Prayer  had  appeared,  from  his  pen,  in 
the  Advance.  Later  he  collected  these  together,  and  put 
with  them  a  half-sheet  of  rough  notes,  mere  hints  to  his  own 
mind,  in  case  he  should  carry  forward  the  subject  to  com- 
pleteness ;  but,  for  the  sake  of  their  suggestiveness,  and  be- 
cause they  show  his  first  handling  of  a  subject,  they  are 
given  here  just  as  he  left  them,  without  other  shaping. 

Ways  of  Prayer. 

...  I  fell  into  a  habit  years  ago  of  talking  with  God,  and  it 
became  so  natural,  that  in  all  my  open  spaces  I  do  it  without 
thought.  I  talk  myself  often  to  sleep  at  night,  and  open  the 
morning  talking,  as  it  were.  It  is  not  supplication  or  ejacu- 
lation or  adoration,  but  a  friendly  way  of  contemplation  and 
personal  intercourse.  In  one  view,  it  is  not  prayer ;  but  I  so 
much  love  it  as  to  sometimes  let  it  take  the  jDlace  of  prayer 
when  it  should  not. — 

We  come  to  prayer — that  is  private,  personal  prayer  in 
form. 

Here  the  first  thing  is  to  be  gathered  up  for  it.  E'ever 
begin  a  prayer  till  you  are  ready  to  say  something  with  a 
meaning.  The  beginning  may  be  so  bad  as  to  be  fatal  to  the 
whole. 

Great  care  to  be  had  of  language — no  hollow  generalities, 
no  splurgy  matter,  nothing  fine — still  less  any  lingoish,  cant- 
ish,  repetitional  stuff  by  threes — no  hand-organ  tune.  ISTo 
study  to  pack  in  Scripture.  Not  too  much  thinking  out, 
must  be  breathed  out  in  the  Spirit.  No  prayer  but  by  him 
— can't  get  it  up. 

Great  point,  at  the  same  time,  to  have  fixed  intent — other- 
wise wandering  thoughts. 

Supreme  law  to  pray  true— we  are  liars  just  as  far  as  we 


WORK  UNDER  LIMITATIONS.  525 

are  sinners;  and  all  the  infestations  that  worry  down  onr 
prayers  are  onr  inbred  falsities,  lies,  seemings,  words,  words. 

Let  all  statements  of  our  wants,  failures,  etc.,  etc.,  be  exact- 
ly put.  Confess  sins,  never  in  the  gross,  but,  as  far  as  possi- 
ble, put  in  all  the  mitigations. 

Put  in  request  with  thanksgiving.  .  .. 

[Here  the  notes  end  abruptly.] 

His  own  morning  prayers  with  tlie  family  grew,  at  this 
time,  in  a  deep  simplicity  and  reality.  This  petition  of  his 
remains  in  the  memory  of  one  who  heard  it  uttered : — "  Be 
with  US  in  our  smallest  concerns,  for  we  are  persuaded  that  it 
is  the  skill  of  life  to  find  Thee  in  the  ordinarj^,  to  reach  unto 
things  spiritual  through  things  temporal ;  and  we  know  that 
anything  done  well  gives  great  satisfaction  to  us  and  to 
Thee." 

In  the  winter  of  1871,  '72,  he  began  the  writing  of  the 
book  which  had  so  long  been  shaping  itself  in  his  mind ; 
but  his  working-power  was  limited  by  the  infirmities  which 
his  summer  rest  had  failed  in  any  great  degree  to  repair. 

The  succeeding  letters  are  the  only  further  indications  of 
the  tenor  of  that  year,  which  passed  in  alternations  of  work 
and  enforced  rest.  For  his  summer  vacation,  he  went  asrain 
to  Eipton. 

To  the  Rev.  Dr.  Bartol. 

Hartford,  March  29, 1872. 

My  deak  Friend  and  Brother,  —  It  is  very  pleasant  to 
hear  from  you  again,  and  that  in  a  volume  so  fresh  and  thor- 
oughly quick.  I  should  have  said  so  much  sooner,  had  I  not 
been  hard  pressed  by  a  work  for  which  I  have  so  little  fund 
left.  Even  now  I  have  not  been  able  to  read  all  your  chapters. 
I  think  it  does  your  brain  good  to  be  softened,  for  you  have 
written  nothing  so  brilliant, — almost  too  brilliant,  dazingly  so 
to  the  mole  species  like  me.  I  dreaded  what  you  might  be 
going  to  say ;  for  I  had  heard  so  much  of  the  new  radicalism, 
that  I  expected  a  kind  of  half  apostasy  from  yourself.  But  I 
do  not  see  it ;  there  is  nothing,  as  far  as  I  can  see,  that  differs 
you  specially  from  what  you  were.     You  pronounce  the  neg- 


526  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSIINELL. 

atives  a  little  stronger  and  a  little  more  antagonistically,  but 
are  all  for  The  Spirit,  as  you  were  of  old.  I  have  a  certain 
pity,  as  I  read,  for  what  I  should  call  your  unstandardliness. 
I  think  of  an  e^g  trying  to  get  on  without  a  shell,  and  it 
seems  to  be  a  rather  awkward  predicament,  I  am  very  fond 
of  liberty,  it  is  true,  but  I  should  not  like  to  have  the  astro- 
nomic worlds  put  up  in  it,  even  if  it  were  given  them  to  go 
by  their  inspirations.  Liberties  are  good,  inspirations  are 
good,  but  I  like  to  have  some  standard  forces,  to  which  I  can 
advert  when  I  get  tired. 

Well,  God  help  you,  as  he,  no  doubt,  will  and  does.  Here 
we  touch  bottom  together,  if  nowhere  else,  and  it  is  good, 
firm  land. 

Truly,  as  ever  of  old,  yours,  Hokace  Bushnell. 

Ripton,  August  5, 1873. 
My  dear  "Wife, — Your  kind  letter  is  received,  as  doubtless 
mine,  written  two  days  before,  has  been  by  you.  We  are  go- 
ing on  here  in  a  way  rather  uneventful,  but  with  some  profit, 
I  hope,  as  regards  the  flesh.  I  have  had  two  rough  times  out 
a -fishing;  once  when  out  with  Mr.  Eldridge,  when  I  must 
have  walked  about  twelve  miles  in  the  woods,  including  two 
miles  of  the  most  awful  tussle  with  logs,  briers,  and  all  the 
horrid  fencing  of  tree -falls,  just  to  pay  for  getting  off  the 
trail  and  the  blazed  path  by  carelessness.  But  it  did  not  hurt 
me;  and  Friday  I  took  about  eight  miles  of  brook  fishing 
again  in  the  woods,  to  show  that  I  am  certainly  as  good  as 
ever.  Yesterday  I  read  a  sermon  from  my  proofs,*  in  the 
parlor.     Our  weather  has  been  dismally  cold,  but  to-day  is 

the  very  softness  and  the  just  warmth  of  paradise.     D 

wrote  you  that  I  had  lost  even  the  recollection  of  that  sub- 
ject which  I  so  much  valued ;  but  I  have  recovered  it,  and 
shaken  hands  with  it  by  a  most  lively  greeting.  It  comes 
back,  I  think,  to  help  me  just  where  I  was  not  counting  on 
it, — in  my  very  book  itself;  a  new  and  most  grand  element 

*  Referring  to  his  last  volume  of  sermons,  on  Living  Subjects,  then  in 
the  press. 


VACATION  LETTERS.  527 

in  the  conception  of  Christ's  reconciling  mission.  I  have 
had  it  burning  in  me,  as  a  most  welcome  tire,  for  two  or 
three  days.  Perhaps  it  will  go  out  in  that  kind  of  tire,  but 
never  as  a  truth  to  be  lived  in. 

I  figure  you  all  gathered  in  there  with  the  dear  mother, 
prima  inter  filias,  and  having  a  right  good  family  time.  I 
hope  you  may  have  many  more,  but  very  many  you  cannot. 
Dear  Emily  is  gone,  and  the  integrity  of  the  band  is  gone, — 
—gone,  that  is,  for  this  world,  but,  I  trust,  not  long;  for 
though  it  will  not  stay  beneath  the  sun,  it  will,  I  make  no 
doubt,  be  renewed  as  you  flock  in  to  the  heroic  mother,  after 
life's  battle  is  over. 

Love  to  you  all.  Horace  Bushnell. 

Eipton,  August  19, 1872. 

I  have  no  fresh  news  to  give  you,  except  that  I  begin  to 
love  you.  As  to  all  other  news,  it  begins  not  here,  but  runs 
its  currents  hitherward,  and  not  hence  aAvay.  We  live  here 
in  an  eddy  as  the  fishes  do, — or,  rather,  love  to  do, — so  that 
we  know  beforehand  where  to  look  for  them.  They  do  not 
stream  away,  and  do  not  take  the  papers,  probably,  or  get 
news  from  abroad  by  any  kind  of  telegraphy ;  but  they  stay 
by  their  eddy,  and  feed  on  what  comes  to  them,  as  also  do 
we.  Do  not  be  surprised  if  I  give  you  a  little  fish-gospel, 
when  I  am  so  much  in  it.  I  think  I  have  been  a-fishing 
three  times  this  last  week,  getting  preciously  tired,  of  course, 
and  yet  all  for  the  best.  I  can  see  that  I  am  gaining  enough 
to  encourage  me,  and  put  me  in  hope  of  the  winter. 

My  book  work  grows  apace,  though  I  only  think  of  it  on 
my  back  and  in  my  silent  hours,  not  writing  anything,  but 
only  letting  jjiy  thoughts  go  to  pasture  in  it,  which  they  do 
with  a  kind  of  feeling-out  practice,  and  with  a  very  elevating 
and  sweet  enjoyment.  If  I  loved  the  formal  duties  more, 
and  kept  up  in  them  more  faithfully,  I  should  think  I  was  a 
Christian.  Yours,  H.  B. 

Coming  home  in  the  autumn,  he  put  all  his  re-enforcement 
of  strength  into  work  upon  his  book,  and  so  passed  on  into 


528  LIFE   OF   HORACE   BUSHNELL. 

the  next  year  of  1873,  wliicli  was  in  its  events  very  much  a 
repetition  of  the  preceding  one.  As  summer  aj^proached,  he 
began  to  plan  for  his  annual  vacation. 


To  the  Eev.  Dr.  George  Bacon. 

Hartford,  May  6, 1873. 

My  deak  Sir, — Recollecting  the  kind  interest  you  took  in 
the  proposed  revision  of  my  book,  and  the  concern  you  ex- 
pressed lest  I  might  be  going  to  make  a  surrender,  or  some- 
thing like  it,  I  should  like  amazingly  to  go  over  the  ground 
witli  you,  and  get  your  impressions  of  what  I  have  done.  I 
am  now  through  with  the  principal  matter,  though  two  or 
three  chapters  will  naturally  be  modified  to  fit  their  changed 
position. 

I  am  planning  to  spend  two  months,  this  summer,  at  Rip- 
ton.  If  it  could  happen  that  you  will  be  there  and  let  me 
bore  you  ad  libitum,  liow  nice  it  would  be!  I  want  sugges- 
tions, correctives,  strictures  of  all  sizes. 

With  much  regard  and  many  pleasant  recollections,  I  am 
yourSj  Horace  Bushnell. 

To  his  Wife. 

Ripton,  July  14, 1873. 

My  dearest  Wife, — We  are  safe  arrived,  as  you  see,  and 
are  entered  on  what  appears  to  be  a  good  beginning.  We  had 
rain  several  times  on  our  way,  passing  through  areas  well  wa- 
tered and  reeking  in  wet.  I  really  hope  you  have  had  your 
turn  of  shower  before  this,  but  have  some  painful  doubt. 

I  see,  by  a  little  scrap  in  the  Spfingfield  Repuhlican^  that 
the  State-house  battle  is  probably  carried.  Hang  up  the 
bow  and  the  quiver  now,  and  be  at  peace !  Thank  God,  my 
days  of  war  are  ended  !  I  will  not  fight  again,  even  for  Hart- 
ford. I  am  delighted  now  to  spread  myself  out  on  the  quiet 
of  a  last  age,  which  I  hope  and  pray  may  be  my  best.  Per- 
liaps  my  irresj)onsibility,  my  unengagedness  and  clearness  of 
burden,  may  do  something  for  me  physically ;  if  not,  I  hope 
it  will  spiritually,  at  least. 


LAST  VISIT  TO  RIPTON.  529 

Rijiton,  August  10, 1873. 

...  I  must  do  yon  the  credit  to  say,  that  when  you  pro- 
pose to  rise  higli  enough  to  take  the  one-way  current,  you 
advance  a  thought  which  is  most  unwontedly  eloquent. 
There  may  be  some  doubt  of  the  one-way  current  on  which 
the  ballooner  proposes  to  throw  himself,  but  there  is  none 
whatever  of  the  fact,  as  pertaining  to  the  currents  of  life- 
movement  in  God,  And  here  is  our  difficulty  always,  in  the 
matter  of  stability  and  progress,  that  we  do  not  pitch  our 
levels  high  enough  to  keep  the  element  where  there  is  no 
variableness  or  shadow  of  turning.  We  only  skim  along  the 
world's  surface,  where  the  winds  are  changeful  and  gusty, 
sometimes  thrown  up  a  little,  as  often  pitched  downward. 
There  is  another  element,  I  am  sure,  in  God,  that  is  high 
enough  to  be  an  abiding  serenity  and  a  movement  all  one 
way ;  that  will  set  us  on  steadily  as  in  drift,  unnotified, 
as  it  were,  of  the  objects  passed  or  the  progress  we  make. 
It  will  even  be  as  if  they  all  were  drifting  with  us  in  the 
same  silent  river,  unvexed  by  the  disturbing  forces  below.  I 
have  sometimes  seemed  to  be  moving  in  this  flood,  lifted  and 
carried  on,  I  knew  not  how.  I  have  at  least  felt  the  peace  of 
it  enough  to  be  sure  of  a  possible  life  and  way,  where  there  is 
no  jostle  or  wavering.  I  think  I  just  now  feel  the  attractive- 
ness of  such  a  possibility,  and  feel  it  the  more  that,  as  life 
draws  to  a  close,  I  am  the  more  disposed  to  float  and  not  to 
fight. 

I  asked  for  an  examination  by  Dr.  Avery,  who  has  made 
us  an  all-too-short  visit ;  and  he  found,  what  I  myself  sus- 
pected, that  I  have  but  one  Inng  left.  The  other  is  still  in 
tolerable  w^orking  order,  and  may  last  for  a  time,  long  enough, 
I  hope,  to  do  what  is  left  me.  .  .  . 

Ripton,  August  21, 1873. 

I  think  the  sympathy  you  bestow  on  my  depression  is  a 
little  more  subjective  in  the  meaning  than  you  know.  I  can 
say  with  truth  that  my  broken  state,  or  the  discovery  of  it, 
has  not  cost  me  a  sad  hour.  It  has  put  me  under  a  little 
stress  of  concern,  lest  my  shortened  condition  may  snap  easi- 
ly enough  to  drop  me  out  of  life,  before  a  certain  point  of 


530  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSIINELL. 

my  work  is  welded  and  set  duly  together ;  which  is  fairly  to 
be  deprecated.  I  am  now  completely  through,  and  my  mind 
clear.  Nothing  now  but  to  vegetate ;  only  I  am  a  little  con- 
cerned lest  the  vegetation  will  have  less  stimulus,  and  will  do 
me  less  good  than  to  carry  some  light  burden.  We  shall  see. 
I  think  I  perceive  that  my  breath  is  gradually  shortening, 
but  I  am  strong  enough  to  bear  more  stress  of  exercise, — 
walking  and  bowling,— than  most  persons  even  younger  than 
I.     And  I  do  about  as  well  at  bowling  as  anybody. 

I  am  very  glad  to  hear  that  our  dear  mother  is  doing  so 
well.     Having  a  new  lease  given,  I  hope  she  will  be  ready 

to  pay  the  rent.     Give  my  parting  love  to  K ,  and  my 

most  unpopely  benediction  to  L . 

Yours  ever,  H.  Bushnell. 

During  this  third  and  last  stay  at  Bread  Loaf  Inn,  he  was 
obliged  to  relinquish  his  fishing  excursions,  and  content  him- 
self with  more  moderate  forms  of  exercise.    But  these  physical 
losses  were  made  up  to  him  by  certain  rare  pleasures.     There 
were  present  in  the  house  some  very  accomplished  musicians, 
among  them,  his   gifted  fellow -townsman,  Henry   Wilson, 
whose  name  is  now  also  numbered  among  Hartford's  hon- 
ored dead.     Their  music  afforded  to  the  tired  thinker  the 
purest  refreshment  and  inspiration.     He  had  some  delight- 
ful intercourse,  also,  with  two  men  whom  he  felt  it  a  great 
good  fortune  to  have  met  there,— Professor  Phelps,  of  Ando- 
ver,  and  the  Kev.  Dr.  George  Bacon.     His  previous  acquaint- 
ance with  the  latter  now  ripened  into  a  very  real  friendship. 
The  two  went  over  together  the  forth-coming  book,  the  elder 
receiving  from  the  younger  all  that  careful,  critical  considera- 
tion of  his  work,  that  he  had  so  much  desired.     Since  then, 
the  two  friends,  so  many  years  apart  in  age,  have  both  passed 
into  the  renewal  of  the  other  world.     In  1876,  when  death 
had  thus  made  that  summer  sojourn  and  its  converse  matter 
of  open  history.  Professor  Phelps  published,  in  the   Chris- 
tian Union,  two  papers,  entitled  "A  Vacation  with  Dr.  Bush- 
nell," — remarkable  alike  for  their  felicitous  portrayal,  and 
for  the  candor  which  enabled  the  writer  to  apprehend  thus 


"A  VACATION   WITH  Dli.  BUSHNELL."  531 

sympathetically  one  in  so  different  a  key  of  thinking  from 
himself.  The  following  quotations  are  the  larger  part  of 
these  invaluable  reminiscences : — 

"  Three  years  ago,  it  was  my  privilege  to  spend  the  major  part  of  a 
summer  vacatiou  with  this  rare  man  in  the  Green  Mountains.  Some 
impressions  which  I  received  of  his  mental  structure,  and  of  his  theolo- 
gy, and  of  his  religious  character,  deserve  recording. 

"  He  was  visibly  worn-out  by  disease.  His  countenance  bore  the  look 
of  distant,  yet  fast-coming,  dissolution,  which  but  one  malady  gives  to  the 
human  eye.  Yet  he  was  as  full  of  courage,  as  full  of  life  and  of  his  life's 
work,  as  he  could  have  been  when  thirty  years  younger.  Few  men  have 
ever  impressed  me  as  being  so  electric  with  vitality  at  all  points  as  he 
was.  He  was  an  enthusiast  in  his  love  of  rural  sights,  and  sounds,  and 
sports.  In  little  things  as  brimful  as  in  great  things,  he  seemed  the  heau 
ideal  of  a  live  man.  The  supremacy  of  mind  over  the  body  was  some- 
thing wonderful.  One  could  not  but  feel  a  new  assurance  of  the  soul's 
immortality,  in  witnessing  the  easy  and  unconscious  power  with  which 
his  spirit  swayed  the  physical  frame  which  was  secretly  enticing  him 
down  to  the  grave.  For  seventeen  years  he  had  kejjt  death  at  bay,  and, 
at  the  time  I  speak  of,  medical  diagnosis  revealed  that  but  one  lung  sup- 
ported his  remnant  of  life ;  yet  that  semiform  of  life  seemed  equal  to  the 
prime  of  many  a  hale  man.  The  abandon  of  his  recreations  in  the  bowl- 
ing-alley, where  he  was  a  boy  again,  and  his  theological  talks  of  a  Sun- 
day evening,  told  the  same  story.  '  Dying,  and  behold  we  live,'  re- 
curred once  and  again  in  listening  to  the  conversations  in  which  he  was 
sure  to  be  the  centre  and  the  seer. 

"  I  have  never  heard  from  any  other  man,  in  the  same  length  of  time, 
so  much  of  original  remark.  ...  It  was  not  his  way  to  talk  for  the  sake 
of  colloquial  courtesy.  He  never  made  conversation.  He  would  not  as- 
sent to  your  say  out  of  conventional  politeness.  From  no  courtly  pres- 
ence on  earth  could  he  ever  have  backed  out  with  meek  obeisance. 
Nothing  was  more  natural  to  him  than  to  write  letters  of  advice  to 
Popes.  His  common  talks  were  varied  by  similar  quaint  ways.  If  you 
said  a  silly  thing  or  a  dull  one,  you  must  carry  it ;  he  would  not  help 
you  out  of  it.  If  he  had  himself  nothing  worth  saying  to  utter,  he  kept 
silent.  He  could  make  silence  mean  more  than  the  speech  of  other  men. 
Awkward  pauses  would  sometimes  happen.  But  when  he  spoke,  all  ears 
were  alert  with  the  assurance  that  they  should  hear  something  which 
they  would  not  willingly  lose.  The  cloud  in  the  western  sky,  the  shad- 
ow on  Bread  Loaf  Mountain,  the  song  of  the  oriole  in  the  api^le-tree,  the 
trout  in  the  brook,  the  clover  in  the  fields,  the  habits  of  the  mountain- 
ash,  were  all  hints  to  his  mind  of  something  different  from  their  sugges- 
tions to  other  observers.  Language,  too,  in  his  talk  as  in  his  books,  he 
used  often  not  as  other  men. 


532  LIFE   OF   HORACE   BUSHNELL. 

"  One  could  not  long  discourse  with  him,  even  on  the  common  things 
and  in  the  undress  of  life,  without  discovering  the  secret  of  his  solitude 
in  the  theological  world.  That  solitude  was  not  in  him,  as  it  is  in  some 
men,  an  aflfectation  of  independence.  It  was  in  the  original  make  of  the 
man.  He  was  by  nature  a  solitaire  in  his  thinking.  Nothing  struck  him 
as  it  did  the  average  of  men.  He  was  not  one  of  the  average.  He  took 
in  all  things,  and  reflected  back  all  things,  at  angles  of  his  own.  He 
never  could  have  been  a  partisan.  With  many  of  the  tastes  of  leader- 
ship he  could  never  have  led  a  party  or  founded  a  school.  Still  less 
could  he  have  been  a  follower  of  other  leaders.  It  was  not  in  him  to 
herd  with  his  kind.  He  recalled  to  one's  thoughts  Wordsworth's  apos- 
trophe to  Milton  : 

"  '  Thy  soul  was  like  a  star,  and  dwelt  apart.' 

"At  the  time  I  mention,  he  was  preparing  for  the  press  the  last  edi- 
tion of  his  work  on  the  '  Atonement.'  Several  times  he  spoke  of  it  as 
the  only  thing  for  which  he  desired  to  live.  He  brought  the  unfinished 
sheets  from  his  sick-room  to  the  mountains,  hoping  to  gain  '  force  enough' 
to  '  round  out'  his  views  by  his  latest  '  insight.'  Other  subjects  of  theo- 
logical controversy  he  would  have  been  glad  to  undertake,  for  on  them 
all,  he  believed  that  he  had  conceptions  which  no  other  man  had ;  but 
he  would  say  of  them,  '  There  isn't  force  enough  left  in  me  to  express 
myself  upon  them.' 

"  It  was  obvious  that  his  own  ideal  of  his  life's  work  was  that  of  discov- 
ery. If  he  had  nothing  to  say  to  the  world  which  was  fresh  to  his  own 
mind,  he  had  nothing  worth  his  saying  or  the  world's  hearing.  Some 
men  spend  the  closing  years  of  their  lives  in  gathering  up,  and  labelling, 
and  storing  in  the  world's  libraries,  the  fruit  of  labors  long  past,  and 
which  to  themselves  have  become  old.  Dr.  Bushnell  seemed  not  to  re- 
gard exhumed  accumulations  of  literature  as  worth  reviving.  A  thought 
once  buried  did  not  deserve  resuscitation.  That  which  he  should  say  to 
his  fellow-men  should  be  as  new  to  himself  as  to  them.  When  he  had 
exhausted  his  power  of  discovery — his  '  insight,'  as  he  was  fond  of  call- 
ing it — he  had  lost  some  of  the  prime  qualities  of  power  in  communica- 
tion. ...  He  was  a  looker  on,  and  up,  to  the  firmament  of  Truth ;  and 
whatsoever  he  saw  there  he  proclaimed  to  the  waiting  multitudes  below, 
or  to  the  few  who  trusted  his  vision.  When  the  vision  ended  he  was  si- 
lent. Of  errors  in  his  published  opinions  he  spoke  as  freely  as  if  they 
had  never  been  his.  '  If  I  see  men  as  trees  walking,  I  do  not  know  that 
it  is  my  fault.'  Not  till  the  superlative  vision  was  vouchsafed  to  him 
was  it  his  mission  to  tell  that.  The  vital  thing  was  the  latest  discovery. 
'The  prophet  that  hath  a  dream, let  him  tell  a  dream.'  He  was  emphat- 
ically a  seer,  not  a  reasoner.  The  last  and  least  thing  that  concerned 
him  was  the  consistency  of  his  present  with  his  past  opinions,  or  of  either 
with  the  revelation  of  to-morrow. 


"A  VACATION   WITH   DR.  BUSHNELL."  533 

"  lie  cherished  a  profound  disrespect  for  large  li])raries.  He  thought 
that  the  burning  of  the  Alexandrian  Library  was  probably  no  loss  to  the 
world ;  and  that,  jjerhaps,  the  major  jjart  of  the  libraries  of  the  British 
Museum  and  of  Paris  could  not  be  worth  their  storage.  Psychological- 
ly, his  mind  was  such  as  the  Grecian  Mythology  represented  in  the  Sibyls; 
and  such  as  a  purer  revelation  might  naturally  elect  as  its  prophet.  If 
he  had  been  a  pupil  of  Socrates,  he  would  have  had  absolute  faith  in  the 
'  Daemon.'  .  .  . 

"  He  spoke  of  the  first  edition  of '  The  Vicarious  Sacrifice '  as  erroneous 
in  the  sense  of  being  but  a  partial  vision,  yet  true  enough  so  far  as  it  went. 
Of  the  revision  of  it,  on  which  he  was  then  engaged,  he  spoke  as  likely  to 
be  regarded  by  his  readers  as  a  return  towards  the  current  evangelical 
faith,  so  far,  at  least,  as  it  should  be  understood  by  them.  It  was  amus- 
ing to  see  the  simplicity  with  which  he  distinguished  between  his  real 
faith  and  that  e'uloloii  of  it  which  words  could  convey  to  readers.  Lan- 
guage was  to  him,  at  the  best,  but  a  wretched  makeshift  for  the  con- 
veyance of  thought.  He  conjectured  that  perhajis  in  heaven  pure  music 
would  be  a  medium  of  expressing  thought,  superior  to  the  most  perfect 
of  human  dialects. 

"  On  the  whole,  he  made  upon  me  the  impression  of  a  mind  still  in 
movement  on  the  central  theme  of  the  Christian  foith  ;  not  doubtful  so  far 
as  he  had  discovered,  yet  not  resting  in  ultimate  convictions.  ...  He  held 
himself  to  be  substantially  at  one  with  the  great  body  of  the  Church  in 
all  that  they  really  believed  of  the  '  faith  in  Christ.'  Yet  whether  he  was 
so  or  not  concerned  him  little.  Truth  lay  between  him  and  God,  not 
between  him  and  the  Church.  He  was  simply  one  of  God's  seers.  He 
was  commissioned  to  paint  the  vision  precisely  as  he  saw  it  in  the 
Mount.  The  reception  of  it  by  other  minds  was  their  affair,  not  his. 
Such,  as  nearly  as  I  could  gather  it  from  his  fragmentary  conversations, 
was  his  theory  of  the  true  work  of  a  theologian  ;  rather  oihis  work  as  a 
theologian ;  for  he  was  very  gentle  in  his  criticisms  of  the  work  of  other 
men.  He  had  his  own  telescope,  and  they  had  theirs;  that  the  instru- 
ments differed  was  no  evidence  that  both  might  not  be  true ;  the  field 
of  vision  was  very  broad.  I  am  confident  that  he  has  gone  from  us 
with  no  such  idea  of  his  own  dissent  from  the  fiiith  of  his  brethren  as 
they  have. 

"And  the  sense  of  that  dissent,  I  must  confess,  grew  dim  in  my  own 
mind  when  I  came  near  to  the  inner  s])irit  of  the  man.  That  was  beau- 
tifully and  i)rofoundly  Christ-like,  if  that  of  uninspired  man  ever  was. 
Be  the  forms  of  his  belief  what  they  may  have  been,  he  was  eminently  a 
man  of  God.  Christ  was  a  reality  to  him.  Christ  lived  in  him  to  a  de- 
gree realized  only  in  the  life  of  devout  believers.  I  had  heard  him  criti- 
cised as  brusque  in  manner,  even  rude  in  his  controversial  dissents. 
Scarcely  a  shade  of  that  kind  was  perceptible  in  him  at  that  time.  The 
gentleness  of  womanhood  breathed  in  his  few  and  cautious  expressions 


53i  LIFE   OF   HORACE   BUSHNELL. 

of  Cliristian  feeling.  Of  the  sure  coming  of  Dcatli  he  spoke  reservedly, 
but  with  unqualified  trust.  The  charity  of  a  large  fraternal  heart  cliar- 
acterized  his  judgments  of  men.  His  whole  bearing  was  that  of  one 
whom  time  and  suft'ering  had  advanced  far  on  towards  the  closing  stages 
of  earthly  discipline. 

"  Now  and  then  a  glimpse  appeared  of  rougher  speech ;  as  when,  ob- 
jecting to  the  use  of  the  Lord's  Prayer  in  public  worship,  he  condensed 
the  whole  argument  against  it  by  saying,  rather  gruffly,  to  an  Episcopal 
friend, '  I  don't  want  to  say  prayers,  I  want  to  ^?ray.'  But  his  general 
bearing  was  that  of  one  whom  life  had  chastened  to  the  utmost,  and 
who  was  then  walking  thoughtfully  far  down  the  valley  of  gentle  shad- 
ows. We  discussed  many  of  his  clerical  critics,  who  have  handled  his 
opinions  without  lenity,  and  I  do  not  recall  from  him  a  single  caustic 
judgment  of  one  of  them. 

"  Diifering  from  him  essentially,  as  I  supposed,  in  his  theory  of  the 
Atonement,  I  still  could  not  but  see  that,  in  its  effects  upon  his  personal 
character,  that  theory  had  been  to  him  apparently  just  what  the  faith  of 
other  believers  in  Christ  is  to  them.  It  was  indeed  no  theory ;  it  was  a 
faith  and  a  life.  Few  men  have  I  known  to  whom  Christ  as  a  Saviour 
seemed  to  be  so  profound  a  reality  as  to  hiui.  Christ  had  been  obvious- 
ly the  centre  of  his  thinking  and  believing  for  two-score  years.  The 
results  had  come  to  him  in  answer  to  the  inquiries  of  a  struggling 
spirit.  In  no  other  answer  could  he  find  rest ;  but  in  that  he  did  rest, 
with  a  trust  as  deep  and  calm  as  I  have  ever  heard  from  the  lips  of  a 
believer. 

"  His  theory  of  the  impotence  of  language  was  as  vividly  illustrated  in 
his  expression  of  personal  faith  in  Christ,  as  in  that  of  any  mystery  of 
theology.  Some  of  his  published  utterances  to  that  effect  take  on  a 
new  significance  to  one  whose  imagination  can  reproduce  the  melting 
eye  and  the  subdued  pathos  of  love,  with  which  he  repeated  them  in  the 
stillness  of  the  evening,  and  among  the  shadows  of  the  mountain.  To 
the  hope  wdiich  I  once  expressed,  that  in  his  revision  of  his  volume  he 
would  hold  fast  to  the  faith  in  a  Divine  Sacrifice  for  sin,  he  replied,  with 
inimitable  emphasis,  and  throwing  both  hands  upon  my  shoulders,  '  I  do 
hold  it  fast.' 

"What  shall  we  say  of  such  men  in  our  theological  classifications? 
Where  shall  we  locate  them  in  the  schools  ?  It  will  never  do  to  set 
them  aside  as  heretics,  and  leave  them  there.  They  are  not  heretics,  in 
any  invidious  sense  of  the  title.  If  faith  means  character,  if  'the  faith 
in  Christ'  be  anything  more  than  the  most  lifeless  of  ossified  forms, 
such  men  are  believers  beyond  the  depth  of  venerable  creeds.  So  much 
the  worse  for  ourselves,  and  for  the  formulas  which  we  revere,  will  it 
be,  in  the  ultimate  and  decisive  judgment  of  mankind,  if  our  faith  can- 
not find  a  place  for  such  believers,  near  to  our  hearts  because  near  to 
Christ." 


LETTER  TO   AN    OLD   FRIEND.  535 

The  following  letter  was  written  by  Dr.  Bushnell  after  liis 
return  home  in  the  autumn : — 

Ilartford,  October  14, 1873. 

My  deak  Bkotiier  WmsiiiP, — I  do  not  sec  what  reason 
you  can  have  to  think  your  writing  to  me  in  former  times 
may  have  lessened  my  interest  in  you.  Nothing  can  be  far- 
ther from  the  truth.  I  remember  always,  with  fresh  affec- 
tion, a  letter  you  wrote  me  in  California.  And  now  let  me 
thank  you  for  your  most  welcome  note.  It  is  really  good 
to  feel  that  I  touch  somebody,  and  somebody  me.  I  do  not 
think  that  my  faith  towards  God  is  dej)arted,  but  I  am  sadly 
dried  in  by  isolation.  I  work  in  my  subjects,  but  such  other 
work  and  communion  as  carries  me  out  towards  persons,  I  do 
badly  miss,  and  sometimes  it  makes  me  jealous  of  losing  hold 
of  God  also.  Your  concern  for  me  is  not  without  reason,  and 
I  thank  God  most  heartily  that  he  has  put  you  on  expressing 
it.  One  thing  you  may  be  sure  of,  that  if  it  should  not  be 
necessary  for  you  to  save  me  from  falling,  you  will  certainly 
have  put  me  in  caution,  and  given  me  more  strength  to 
stand.  I  hope  I  shall  stand ;  I  think  I  shall.  As  I  am  con- 
sciously near  my  limit,  my  confidence  grows.  I  only  wish 
that  I  had  more  relation  to  persons,  and  less  exclusive  rela- 
tion to  subjects.  In  this  latter,  I  want  the  opening  power  of 
faith  to  keep  me  in  true  light.  Pray  for  me,  as  I  am  doing 
for  myself,  that  I  may  have  it.     In  great  love,  II.  B. 

At  the  close  of  the  year,  he  wrote  to  Dr.  George  Bacon, "  I 
am  going  steadily  down,  but  contriving  meantime  to  work  a 
little."  So  long  as  any  work  w^as  in  his  hands,  there  were 
always  possible  improvements  to  be  made ;  and  in  this  in- 
stance he' felt  a  peculiar  anxiety  to  give  his  book  the  benefit 
of  every  fresh  suggestion,  whether  his  own  or  another's.  The 
most  important  chapters  w^ere  read  before  a  circle  of  friends, 
and  the  revised  manuscript  was  put  into  the  hands  of  his 
younger  brethren,  Dr.  Parker  and  Mr.  Twichell,  with  a  de- 
sire that  they  would  bestow  their  "most  fearless  criticisms" 
upon  it. 

But  it  must  not  be  inferred  that  he  was  all  the  time  dwell- 

35 


536  LIFE   OF  HORACE  BUSIINELL, 

ing  in  tlie  atmosphere  of  his  own  work.  He  was  never  a 
prisoner  to  that,  or  to  his  infirmity.  He  went  out  every 
day  and  in  all  weathers,  never  letting  himself  get  shut  in  be- 
hind the  walls  of  invalidism.  If,  through  some  unusual  access 
of  disease,  he  was  shut  into  his  study,  that  quiet  retreat  seem- 
ed to  be  in  telegraphic  communication  with  the  great  world, 
whose  movements  no  door  could  keep  out.  Never,  to  the 
last,  was  he  tempted  to  cry,  "  The  glow,  the  thrill  of  life, — 
where,  where  do  these  abound  ?"  They  abounded  every- 
where,— in  religion,  in  society,  in  politics,  in  science,  in  life. 
The  mention  of  science  recalls  his  intense  interest  in  all 
its  latest  revelations,  especially  in  those  relating  to  the  Cor- 
relation of  Forces.  Far  from  fearing  the  results  of  such 
investigations,  he  w^elcomed  them,  not  only  for  their  scien- 
tific beauty  and  value,  but  because  he  believed  them  to  fit 
so  perfectly  into  the  wider  science  of  life,  and  to  furnish  im- 
ages and  interpretations  so  grand  in  the  higher  ranges  of 
thought. 

Neither  did  the  play-side  of  his  nature  sink  into  silence  or 
disuse.  It  was  as  natural  as  ever  for  him  to  put  things  pict- 
nre-wise,  so  that  the  most  common  things  took  a  fresh  signifi- 
cance under  his  touch.  Resting  near  a  window  one  day,  he 
noticed  how  the  tall  sycamores  at  the  foot  of  his  garden  had 
stripped  off  their  outer  bark,  showing  the  satin-whiteness  be- 
neath, and  exclaimed,  in  a  sort  of  joyful  sympathy,  "  They 
have  come  out  clean-limbed,  like  wrestlers,  for  the  match." 
For  inquiries  about  his  health  he  had  an  infinite  number  of 
replies.  Once,  on  his  coming  down-stairs,  one  of  the  famih' 
inquired,  "  Have  you  had  a  good  nap?"  "  Yes,"  he  answered, 
smiling  brightly,  "  I've  just  come  ashore."  Sometimes,  when 
asked,  "How  is  your  health,  Doctor?"  he  would  reply,  "I 
haven't  any  ;"  or,  "  AYell,  I'm  here  yet ;"  or,  again,  "  Oh,  Fm 
one  of  the  '  vestiges  of  creation.'  "  To  one  who  met  him, 
when  in  visibly  failing  condition,  with  the  greeting,  "I  hope, 
sir,  you  are  very  well,"  he  rejoined,  with  humorous  shortness, 
"  You  know  I'm  not !" 

He  was  without  even  allowable  concealments  about  him- 
self, and   really  exaggerated   a  diSiculty  of  hearing,  which 


VITALITY  OF  HIS  HUMOR.  537 

might,  for  some  time,  have  been  covered  by  a  little  adroit- 
ness, speaking  of  himself  as  "deaf"  long  before  there  was 
any  real  obstruction  to  his  pleasure  in  social  intercourse.  So 
of  his  age.  While  practically  he  ignored  it,  and  was  accom- 
plishing more  than  many  a  younger  person,  he  still,  years  be- 
fore his  death,  called  himself  "  an  old  man."  But  a  curious 
stranger  who,  in  one  of  the  last  years  of  his  life,  opened  con- 
versation with  him  in  the  street  with  the  rather  searching  in- 
quiry, "  How  many  years  does  it  take  to  make  the  locks  as 
white  as  yours,  sir?"  received  the  baffling  reply,  "Oh,  any- 
where from  forty-five  to  ninety." 

But  how  impossible  to  reproduce  what  was  the  very  touch- 
and-go  of  mind  and  speech,  and  glances  from  memory,  as  it 
did  from  the  instant!  These  were  only  sparks  from  the 
forge, — brighter  for  the  gathering  darkness,  and  signs  that 
the  busy  working  life  within  had  not  ceased. 

During  the  spring  of  187^,  he  was  occupied  in  correcting 
the  proof-sheets  of  his  book,  then  in  the  press,  and,  owing  to 
this  and  a  diminution  of  strength,  w\as  obliged  to  forego  other 
expenditures  of  himself,  in  which  he  had  always  taken  pleas- 
ure. About  this  time,  he  met  in  the  street  a  friend,  who 
urged  him  to  go  into  the  ministers'  meeting,  giving  him  the 
subject  of  discussion, — "Abiding  in  Christ."  He  did  not 
feel  able  to  go  in,  but  said,  "If  he  went  he  would  say  one 
thing, — that  abiding  in  Christ  is  to  abide.  It  is  an  act.  We 
are  not  to  hash  in  Christ." 

Late  in  the  spring,  his  book,  the  work  so  identified  with 
this  last  period  of  his  life,  was  published,  under  the  title, 
"Forgiveness  and  Law."  There  was  a  relief  and  yet  a  sad- 
ness in  the  cessation  of  his  task.  The  reaction  which  always 
follows  at  such  a  time  was  felt  by  him  in  an  unusual  sense ; 
for  the  lieat  and  motion  of  his  mind  had  had  much  to  do 
with  keeping  the  fading  embers  alive.  The  letters  which 
he  wrote  after  the  publication  of  his  book  show  that  his 
thoughts  still  followed  it,  after  his  hands  had  let  it  go.  In 
July,  he  went,  for  health's  sake,  to  ISTorfolk,  in  the  high- 
lands of  his  own  State,  as  he  did  not  feel  equal  to  any  more 
distant  journeying. 


538  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

To  Dr.  George  Bacon. 

Hartford,  May  4, 1874. 

My  deak  Friend, — I  am  rejoiced  above  measure  to  hear 
you  speak  as  you  do  of  being  well.  I  was  afraid,  as  I  came 
along  in  your  letter,  that  you  were  not  going  to  say  it.  But 
the  best  wine  was  to  be  last.  First  or  last,  I  am  truly  thank- 
ful to  God.  Only  the  next  thing  I  have  to  say  is,  looli,  out., 
make  haste  slowly.  You  will  make  a  great  deal  more  of  your 
resources  now,  as  I  strongly  believe,  if  you  can  be  a  little 
stingy  in  expenditure. 

I  have  just  written  a  letter  to  Scribner  to  send  you  the 
book.  If  I  keep  it  back  till  it  comes  on  here,  and  then 
inscribe  it  in  due  palaver,  it  will  reach  you  full  a  week 
later.  Perhaps  we  can  manage  to  get  in  the  palaver  after- 
wards. 

I  have  a  queer  feeling  about  this  book.  It  is  the  newest 
thing  I  have  written,  so  I  think ;  and  I  seem  to  have  struck 
out  in  it  beyond  the  sight  of  land,  uncertain  of  everything, 
yet  afraid  of  nothing,  and,  in  some  sense,  confident  of  finding 
my  way  into  harbor  somewhere. 

Yours  ever,  Hoeace  Bdshnell. 

To  the  Hev.  Amos  Cheselrough. 

Hartford,  May  21, 1874. 
My  dear  Brother, — The  formalities  do  not  require  me  to 
answer  your  letter,  but  I  do  it  of  my  free  inclination.  Your 
little  critique  hits  the  point  admirably,  and  does  me  good  like 
a  medicine, — particularly  what  you  say  of  my  possible  fur- 
ther advance,  living  long  enough  to  allow  it.  The  fact  is, 
that  I  have  never  published  a  book  that  brought  such  a  load 
on  my  feeling  as  this  has  brought.  Kot  that  I  have  any  mis- 
giving as  to  the  truth  of  my  doctrine;  I  am  more  than  com- 
monly assured  of  it.  But  it  is  the  newest  thing  I  have 
done  for  the  matter  of  it,  and  I  have  been  suffering  real  op- 
pression of  mind  from  the  uncertainty  I  am  in,  lest  I  may 
not  have  been  able  to  adjust  myself  rightly  in  the  statement. 
What  position  other  minds  are  in,  I  have  not  been  sure 


LETTERS  ABOUT  HIS  LAST  BOOK.  539 

enough,  to  set  my  points  accurately,  as  true  address  requires. 
Where  is  my  public  ?  how  shall  I  put  this  and  that  to  be 
rightly  taken  ? — has  been  my  constant  question.  It  has  been 
with  me  as  with  one  shooting  in  the  dark,  and  I  have  been 
tormenting  myself  lest  I  may  have  lost  my  truth  by  resolv- 
ing it  faultily.  Your  letter  has,  in  this  view,  been  a  great 
relief.  You  do  not  say  that  I  am  out  in  the  missing  of  my 
figure,  but  that,  if  I  should  live  long  enough,  I  might  go  far- 
ther and  do  better.  I  will  not,  therefore,  lie  awake  contriv- 
ing how  I  might  have  drawn  one  thing  or  another  so  as  to 
be  justified  in  it. 

I  am  the  more  relieved  here,  that  I  find  you  so  beauti- 
fully appreciative  in  other  things  where  I  know  that  I  am 
right.  I  do  think  that  I  have  gained  something  for  the 
Gospel,  by  bringing  it  closer  down  to  the  analogies  of 
nature. 

It  is  a  very  great  discovery  to  me  that  Law  and  Command- 
ment pack  the  world  full,  as  they  do,  of  their  analogies,  com- 
posing, as  it  were,  their  analogue  of  the  great  salvation.  I 
thank  you  heartily. 

Yours  truly,  Horace  Busiinell. 

To  Dr.  George  Bacon. 

Hartford,  June  1, 1874. 
My  dear  Friend, — I  was  getting  quite  concerned  for  you, 
that  I  heard  nothing  from  you,  lest  you  had  broken  yourself 
down  by  overdoing  in  your  new-begun  labors.  I  had  made 
up  my  mind  that  I  must  write  to-day,  and  learn  what  had  be- 
come of  you.  Your  letter  that  came  to  hand  Saturday  was 
therefore  a  great  relief,  and  gave  me  a  new  spring  of  satisfac- 
tion. Among  my  other  thoughts,  coming  in  multitude,  was 
a  fear  that  you  had  put  yourself  into  my  affairs  at  too  great 
cost,  and  I  began  to  blame  myself  that  I  had  not  put  you  un- 
der injunction,  proscribing  for  you  any  right  to  engage  in  the 
question  of  my  book.  But  you  have  done  it,  I  see,  already, 
and  are  not  dead;  for  which  latter  I  am  specially  grateful, 
and  would  be  also  for  the  former,  if  I  were  quite  sure  that 
you  suffer  no  damage.     Do  be  careful  now,  as  you  pitch  into 


5i0  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

your  eugageraents,  not  to  go  beyond  your  limit.  Let  it  be  a 
fact  that  there  are  a  great  many  things  which  you  had  better 
let  alone,  however  well  you  can  do  them. 

I  have  been  doing  just  nothing  since  the  book  is  out,  and 
really  do  not  expect  ever  to  do  much.  I  am  very  weak  and 
very  short  of  breath.  I  may  last  a  year,  or  even  live  as  a  re- 
mote possibilit}^,  but  I  shall  never  be  girded  again,  I  think. 

I  have  some  thoughts  of  trying  to  patch  up  a  few  notes 
that  I  may  see  to  be  wanted,  and  hung  on  at  the  end, — one 
in  particular,  referring  to  the  lack  you  speak  of  in  my  last 
chapter.  Perhaps  you  do  not  mean  what  I  do ;  but  I  want, 
in  particular,  to  show  that  Christ,  holding  the  three  points 
set  forth,  could  by  no  possibility  hold  any  one  of  the  forms 
of  legal  atonement  offered  by  the  schools.  Thinking  these 
things,  the  church-orthodox  thinking  is  forever  out  of  his 
reach.  .  .  . 

To  the  Christian  Union. 

Norfolk,  Conn.,  August  3, 1874. 

Will  you  thank  for  me  the  writer,  whoever  he  may  be,  of 
the  notice  of  my  late  book,  "  Forgiveness  and  Law  ?"  It  is 
not  my  way  to  thank  writers  of  notices  in  this  manner,  and  I 
do  it  here  simply  because  of  my  appreciation  of  the  service 
rendered.  I  have  been  doubtfully  and  somewhat  painfully 
exercised  regarding  this  book,  and  it  is  a  great  relief  to  me 
to  lind  that  it  is  not  as  bad  as  I  feared, — that,  after  all,  the 
argument  is  so  far  out,  that  a  man  of  real  insight  can  accu- 
rately report  the  same  in  a  short  notice. 

I  was  in  a  country  where  there  were  no  roads,  and  was 
much  tormented  by  the  question  where  my  track  should  be 
laid.  I  had  great  confidence  in  my  argument,  but  there  was 
no  form  ready  for  it,  and  a  great  variety  of  forms  was  possi- 
ble. I  chose  what  seemed  to  be  the  best,  but  doubted  final- 
ly whether  it  was  not  a  mistake,  and  after  the  publication, 
doubted  more  than  ever.  Hence  it  is  that  I  am  so  greatly 
obliged  by  your  experiment ;  it  gives  me  better  hope. 

And  let  me  further  add,  that  I  even  coincide  with  your 
query,  whether  I  do  not  press  my  analogy  "  over-far."  I 
certainly  do,  if  you  put,  in  the  analogy,  matter  of  obstruction, 


LETTERS.  541 

as  regards  forgiveness,  that  belongs  to  our  moral  oblitj^uit}-. 
The  analogy  holds  only  so  far  as  our  proper  nature  is  com- 
pared with  the  divine  nature.  Perliaps  I  did  not  make  the 
point  sufficiently  distinct.  The  gradations  through  which  I 
traced  the  idea  of  forgiveness  up  to  its  summit,  were  meant 
simply  as  a  stair  for  ascending  into  the  idea  or  the  difficulty 
of  its  realization,  not  as  being  in  this  line  a  part  of  the  analo- 
gy, but  only  a  part,  in  the  last  degree  or  highest  fact,  of  a  dif- 
iiculty  encountered  by  goodness. 

I  shall  not  take  it  ill  if  you  let  me  know  to  whom  I  am  be- 
holden for  this  valued  criticism.* 

In  true  Christian  regard  and  brotherhood,  yours, 

Horace  Bushnell. 

Norfolk,  August  10, 1874. 
My  ever  dear  Wife, — I  read  your  little  bookf  right 
through  at  once,  and  liked  it  all  the  more  that  I  could  see 
the  fervors  it  raised  in  you.  It  is  really  a  most  interesting, 
profoundly  exciting  affair,  especially  in  the  matters  quoted 
from  the  heathen  apostles.  What  could  they  do  but  seize 
the  love  of  God,  so  gloriously  commended  to  them  in  the 
Lord  Jesus  Christ, — no  Lord  Jesus  to  them,  but  only  Jesus? 
We  are  half  tempted  to  say,  as  we  read.  Well,  what  more  of 
Gospel  do  we  want  than  simply  to  believe  in  the  love,  and 
take  it  as  our  Gospel  to  convert  the  world  with,  joining  hands 
with  all  that  will  join  hands  with  us,  be  they  called  by  what- 
ever name  ?  Sol  said  when  I  came  to  the  end.  But  thire 
was  an  after-thought  showing  a  difference.  What  can  ever 
make  up  the  Gospel  we  want  but  to  have  the  love  coming  in 
the  line  of  a  forgivingness  ?  It  really  does  not  come  to  be  a 
salvation  till  tho  love  is  seen  making  cost,  and  coming  after 
as  by  sacrifice.  It  would  not  be  difficult  for  even  a  heathen 
to  believe  in  God  as  love ;  but  to  believe  that  he  comes  after 


*  He  learned  that  the  Rev.  Dr.  Howard,  of  Catskill,  N.  Y.,  was  the  au- 
thor of  the  criticism  that  had  so  much  satisfied  him. 

t  A  Lecture  on  Missions,  delivered  by  Max  jMiiller  in  Westminster 
Abbey,  with  an  introductory  sermon  by  Dean  Stanley. 


542  LIFE   OF   HORACE   BUSHNELL. 

US  through  painstaking  and  sorrow  would  be  very  far  off, — 
ah,  it  is  impossible ! 

Still,  this  exposition  of  the  heathen  will  show  our  missions 
the  horrible  mistake  they  are  under  in  the  assumptions  they 
make,  and  mitigate,  how  largely,  their  condemnations.  .  .  . 
Your  loving  husband,  H.  B. 

These  letters  admit  us  to  Dr.  Bushnell's  more  private  and 
informal  comments  on  his  last  book,  which,  perhaps  more 
than  any  other  of  his  works,  needs  all  the  side-lights  that  can 
be  thrown  on  it,  two  of  its  noblest  features  having  met  with 
some  misapprehension, — the  candid  avowal  of  "the  arrival 
of  fresh  light,"  and  the  visible  outreach  after  union  with  oth- 
ers, of  a  mind  so  peculiarly  independent  in  its  first  departure. 
So  far  as  this  misapprehension  has  not  been  of  the  predeter- 
mined kind,  it  is  hoped  that  this  history  of  his  mind  may 
have  done  much  to  remove  it,  and  to  prepare  the  reader  to 
iind  in  this  book  the  last  earthly  stage  of  a  harmonious  de- 
velopment. 

Dr.  Bushnell's  mind  has  shown  itself  to  be  not  merely 
constructive,  but  reproductive  in  an  eminent  degree.  One 
thought  was  with  him  the  seed  of  another  thought.  lie 
cared  not  at  all  to  leave  behind  him  a  "  system  of  thought," 
a  machine,  however  ingenious  or  powerful.  What  he  did 
want  to  leave,  the  only  thing  it  was  in  him  to  leave,  was  a 
living,  growing,  harmonious  conception  of  truth,  which  should 
be*  seed-thought  to  others.  If  this,  springing  up,  should  in 
time  outgrow  him,  so  much  the  better,  he  would  have  said,  so 
that  it  only  grew.  The  movement  of  his  mind  was  not  mi- 
gratory but  progressive — an  evolution,  an  upbuilding;  and  if 
his  final  conclusions  seem  widely  removed  from  his  early  con- 
ceptions, they  yet  spring  as  naturally  and  continuously  from 
them,  as  the  topmost  branches  from  the  root,  or  the  finial 
from  the  foundation. 

We  have  already  seen  that  the  ideal  of  forgiveness  on 
which  the  book  is  based  had  been,  for  years,  a  shaping  ele- 
ment in  his  character  and  thought.  The  sermon,  to  which  he 
refers  in  the  Introdnction,  and  in  the  writing  of  which  the 


RELATIONS  OF  HIS  LAST   BOOK.  543 

far-reaching  analogies  of  that  ideal  first  dawned  upon  him, 
was  that  on  Christian  Forgiveness  in  "  Christ  and  his  Salva- 
tion," and  was  published  as  early  as  1864.  "When  at  last  he 
had  "traced  the  idea  of  forgiveness  to  its  summit,"  a  new 
view  was  opened  to  him  of  tlie  life  and  sacrifice  of  Christ  in 
their  relations  to  God  himself.  He  became  conscious  of  a 
limitation  in  his  former  view,  as  having  regarded  too  exclu- 
sively the  manward  relations  of  that  great  subject,  whose  two 
sides  he  saw  to  be  essential  to  each  other  and  vitally  connect- 
ed. It  was  as  if  the  living  form  of  Truth  herself  had  ap- 
^Deared  to  him  with  both  wings  outspread. 

This  is  the  history  in  brief  of  his  last  book,  as  related  to 
his  first  treatise  on  the  "Vicarious  Sacrifice,"  published  some 
ten  years  before.  So  great  was  now  his  desire  to  set  forth 
the  subject  in  its  unity,  that  he  even  proposed  to  discontinue 
the  latter  half  of  the  earlier  book,  and  to  replace  it  with  this 
later  one,  in  which  he  had  already  incorporated  all  that  he 
considered  of  essential  value  in  the  part  to  be  relinquished. 
It  is  as  noble  as  it  is  unusual  for  a  man  to  be  willing  to  say 
openly  of  anything  he  has  done,  "  Let  that  go,  to  make  w^ay 
for  something  better;"  but  unfortunately  it  is  liable  to  be 
taken  for  a  more  total  renunciation  than  he  intended ;  and, 
besides,  he  is  not  always  the  best  judge  of  the  value  of  his 
thought  to  others.  Under  the  influence  of  such  suggestions. 
Dr.  Bushnell  became  doubtful  of  the  wisdom  of  his  design ; 
and  after  his  death,  which  left  the  question  still  open,  it  was 
decided  that,  in  the  new  edition  of  his  works,  both  books 
should  appear  intact,  but  as  the  first  and  second  volume  of 
one  work — "  The  Vicarious  Sacrifice."  Thus  his  view  of  the 
Atonement  is  represented  historically,  yet  with  something  of 
the  unity  he  desired. 

To  feel  this  advance  in  his  thought,  and  to  be"  permitted  so 
far  to  complete  the  expression  of  it,  gave  a  meaning  and  in- 
spiration to  his  later  years.  So  remote  from  his  mind  was 
the  idea  of  any  desertion  of  his  onward  way,  that  the  greatest 
difficulty  he  met  in  writing  his  last  book  was,  as  his  letters 
show,  in  opening  to  the  minds  of  others  a  region  so  new  and 
unexplored.     He  is  sailing  on,  "  out  of  sight  of  land ;"  he  is 


544  LIFE   OF   HORACE   BUSHNELL. 

in  a  new  country,  "  where  there  are  no  roads;''  "it  is  the 
newest  thing  I  have  done,"  he  says.  Such  was  his  feeling 
about  the  book,  and  such  is  the  atmosphere  of  the  book  itself. 
The  sense  it  imparts  of  on-looking  vision,  and  of  being  ever 
on  the  verge  of  further  discovery,  must  be  stimulating  and 
enlarging  to  the  mind,  and  is  remarkable  as  coming  from  so 
old  a  man.  In  apparent  contrast  with  this,  is  his  adoption  of 
certain  old  theological  terms  and  the  readjustment  of  himself 
to  thein,  so  that  the  most  ancient  and  the  most  recent  seem 
curiously  blended  in  his  pages.  This  it  is  which  has  caused 
the  book  to  be  called  "  a  book  of  reconciliation ;"  but  it  is 
so  by  enlargement,  and  not  by  surrender.  He  had  faith  in 
the  old  historic  names  of  truth,  and  had  been  always  seek- 
ing to  "  restore  their  living  and  flexible  senses,"  and  to  find 
that  larger,  more  inclusive  interpretation  of  which  he  be- 
lieved them  capable.  Sometimes  he  had  succeeded,  in  a  de- 
gree at  least,  as  by  his  use  of  the  word  vicarious  in  his  for- 
mer treatise.  Whether  in  this  he  was  able  to  do  as  much 
for  the  word  j^rojjitiation,  so  stiffened  by  long  usage,  does  not 
yet  appear.  Certainly  his  presentment  of  it  differs  at  the 
root  from  anything  which  now  commonly  bears  the  name. 

The  central  idea  of  the  book,  that  on  which  all  its  argu- 
ments turn,  is  the  self-sacrijice  of  God  in  Christ.  In  the  very 
title  of  his  first  book,  "  God  in  Christ,"  he  had  struck  the  key- 
note ;  but  now  he  heard  the  music  of  a  fuller  harmony.  That 
idea  had  become  to  him  the  centre  of  the  universe,  and  in  its 
own  nature  a  reconciler.  For  the  nearer  he  drew  to  the  cen- 
tre, the  wider  became  his  kinship,  the  more  direct  his  rela- 
tions, with  the  great  outlying  circle  of  thought.  And  there 
can  be  no  doubt  that  it  was  part  of  his  hope  for  this  book, 
that  it  might  prove  to  be  a  meeting-place  for  the  thought  of 
the  past  and  the  thinking  of  the  present  on  this  great  theme, 
whence  they  might  flow  on  together  by  a  channel  made  wide 
enough  to  receive  them.  But  he  sent  it  into  the  world  with 
many  misgivings  mingled  with  his  hope, — hope,  because  of 
the  truth  he  believed  it  to  contain ;  misgivings,  lest  he  had 
failed  to  present  that  truth  in  its  clearness  and  fulness.  And 
yet  that  which  he  was  almost  tempted  to  call  its  failure  is, 


IMPORT  OF  THE  BOOK.  545 

perhaps,  its  greatest  strength.  It  is  not  a  completed  message, 
"  the  conclusion  of  the  whole  matter ;"  it  is  something  better 
than  that, — an  open  way.  It  lets  us  "  feel  the  window  lifted 
where  the  fresh  air  blows,"  and  reveals  the  light  of  a  day  not 
yet  fully  risen. 

What  Dr.  George  Bacon  wrote  him  of  the  last  cliaj)ter  is 
true,  in  a  sense,  of  the  whole  book : — 

"  The  last  chapter  is  a  real  addition  to  the  work,  and  will 
be  more  valued  by-and-by  than  it  will  be  at  first.  My  criti- 
cism would  be  that  it  is  too  condensed,  that  people  will  not 
see  how  much  there  is  in  it,  in  the  lack  of  amplification  and 
illustration,  which  you  would  have  supplied  if  your  strength 
had  been  larger.  It  is  an  oi^ening-up  of  a  new  way  of 
thought,  and  it  will  take  time  before  people  will  begin  to 
travel  over  it.  But  they  will  find  out  presently  that  it  is  a 
way  in  which  it  will  be  worth  while  to  travel." 

This  is  the  utmost  that  its  author  could  have  desired.  On 
one  of  the  last  pages  of  that  last  chapter,  which  looks  for- 
w^ard  more  than  any  other  part  of  the  book,  and  is  very  pe- 
culiarly his  own,  he  says: — "It  is  not  a  summation  of  doc- 
trine that  we  w^ant.  We  have  had  enough  of  that.  What 
we  want  a  great  deal  more  is  something  to  give  us  greater 
breadth  of  standing  and  greater  vitality  of  idea."  There  is 
probably  no  one  sentence  of  his  that  could  more  fitly  close 
his  intellectual  work. 

He  returned  home  from  Norfolk,  in  that  autumn  of  1874, 
less  renewed  than  ever  before  by  change  of  scene  and  rest. 
But  he  accepted  so  courageously  his  increasing  limitations, 
that  he  made  them  seem  almost  like  some  better  kind  of 
freedom.  This  picture  of  him,  by  the  hand  of  a  fellov?--min- 
ister  and  townsman,  shows  him  very  much  as  he  appeared  at 
that  time : — 

"  His  busy  mind  -nronght  on  to  the  end.  His  brain  teemed  with  new 
work,  and  last  year  he  told  us  of  schemes  of  his,  which  lie,  the  man  of 
seventy-three,  was  most  eager  to  begin  and  complete.  That  fiery,  en- 
ergetic mind  struck  out  its  sparks  to  the  last.  It  was  always  a  great 
treat  to  hear  him  talk,  and  whoever  often  heard  him  would  cease  to  speak 


54:6  LIFE   OF   HORACE   BUSHNELL. 

of  the  obscurity  of  his  diction.  He  gesticulated  but  little,  but  once  in 
a  while  there  was  an  imperious  stroke  with  the  forefinger,  and  a  char- 
acteristic elevation  of  the  shoulder,  the  like  of  which  we  have  seen 
in  no  other  man,  which  added  new  emphasis  and  point  to  his  words. 
Even  when  too  weak  to  walk,  his  voice  would  ring  with  a  martial 
tone,  his  utterance  glow  witli  impassioned  fervor,  and  tlie  energy  of 
his  thought  would  make  every  one  thrill  within  the  hearing  of  his 
voice.  Within  these  last  years  all  who  have  known  Dr.  Bushnell  have 
seen  in  him  a  growing  mellowness  which  was  partly  the  ripening  of  old 
age,  but  something  even  more  than  this.  Even  theological  opponents 
have  been  disarmed  by  the  great  spirituality  and  tender  words  of  his 
last  years.  .  .  . 

"...  Who  of  us  does  not  remember  his  spare  figure,  muscular,  active, 
with  that  energetic  walk  of  his ;  not  hasty,  indeed  leisurely,  but  with 
a  kind  of  spring  in  every  motion  ?  Who  does  not  recall  the  iron-gray 
hair,  tossed  carelesoly  about ;  the  stout  oak  stick ;  the  garments  studious- 
ly unprofessional,  yet  never  careless ;  a  happy  remove  from  both  elegance 
and  roughness?  Who  has  not  seen  that  face,  so  full  of  expression;  the 
skin,  of  late  so  clear  and  transparent ;  the  eye,  large,  deep,  and  inquiring ; 
the  easy  recognition,  the  flash  of  wit,  the  blunt  reply  ?  These  are  all  mat- 
ters of  common  observation  in  Hartford ;  for  he  was  one  of  the  notables 
of  the  city;  and  when  he  walked  abroad,  many  ej-es  followed  him  with 
reverential  and  eager  looks.  How  we  shall  miss  that  marked  figure,  that 
cordial  greeting,  that  eager  look  !" 

"  God  spared  his  life  till  all  men  were  at  peace  with  hira," 
another  has  said.  The  granite,  roughness,  the  nigged  pioneer 
force  of  his  early  days  had  disappeared,  or  showed  through 
only  here  and  there  as  the  massive  material  of  character; 
and  the  tenderness,  the  sweetness,  the  bearing  and  forbearing 
strength  of  his  nature  came  to  their  perfection.  He  was  "ri- 
pening in  the  summer  of  God's  love."  Yet  even,  now  he  did 
not,  as  he  had  once  forcibly  expressed  it, "  bask  in  Christ."  His 
mind  was  responsive  still  to  the  Divine  inspirations,  and  when 
they  breathed,  spread  its  sails  as  obediently,  if  less  boldly,' 
ready  to  push  on  or  to  wait,  as  the  word  should  be. 

This  state  of  equipoise  is  revealed  in  the  words  with  which, 
at  that  late  hour,  he  opened  a  new  work,  doubtful  if  he  should 
ever  do  more  than  begin  it.  At  the  head  of  the  first  page 
is  the  title, — "  Inspiration  :  Its  Modes  and  Uses,  whether  as 
rehited  to  Character,  Kevelation,  or  Action."  Below  this  he 
writes : — 


A  NEW  WORK  BEGUN.  54:7 

I  begin  this  day,  January  22, 1ST5,  a  tract  or  treatise  on 
the  Holy  Spirit  and  his  work,  which  I  have  long  been  desir- 
ing to  prepare,  but  have  been  detained  formerly  by  other  en- 
gagements, and  of  late  by  advanced  age  and  the  growing  in- 
capacity of  disease.  It  does  not  seem  to  me  that  I  can  ever 
fully  execute  so  heavy  a  work ;  but  I  can  begin  it,  and  God 
will  permit  me  to  go  on,  or  stop  me  short  when  he  pleases, 
and  to  him  I  gladly  submit  the  result.  Onl}',  considering 
how  much  of  divine  insight  will  be  needed  to  speak  worthily 
of  a  subject  so  interior  and  deep,  and  so  far  removed  from 
the  mere  natural  intelligence  of  men,  I  invoke  most  earnestly 
his  constant  presence  with  me,  and  the  steady  oversight  of  his 
counsel.  Help  me,  O  Eternal  Spirit,  whose  ways  I  am  engaged 
to  interpret,  to  be  in  the  sense  at  all  times  of  thy  pure  teach- 
ing, and  to  speak  of  what  thou  givest  me  to  presently  know ! 

Seeing  that  I  have  no  strength  left  to  be  expended  on  su- 
perfluities, and  scarcely  enough  to  serve  my  present  necessi- 
ties, I  make  engagement  with  myself  not  to  be  over-exacting 
in  matters  of  form  and  rhetorical  finish.  It  must  be  sufii- 
cient  for  matters  of  style,  that  I  represent  my  glorious  Friend, 
the  Holy  Spirit,  according  to  the  practical  truth  of  his  rela- 
tionship,— the  mind  of  the  Spirit  is  to  be  my  law,  as  it  is 
my  subject. 

In  case  my  work  is  cut  short,  which  is  by  no  means  improb- 
able, I  submit  the  manuscript  of  what  is  written  to  the  dis- 
cretion of  competent  judges.  If  only  a  little  is  done,  it  will, 
of  course,  be  suppressed,  as  by  the  judgment  of  Providence. 
If  it  is  carried  far  enough  towards  completion  to  show  the 
general  argument,  or  to  give  indications  of  a  general  treat- 
ment that  would  probably  have  a  degree  of  freshness  and 
practical  benefit,  that  may  be  a  judgment  of  Providence  fa- 
voring its  preservation. 

At  this  point  I  pass  directly  on  to  my  work,  proposing  no 
analysis  or  plan,  but  simply  to  let  it  plan  itself,  as  the  rivers 
do  when  they  mark  their  courses  by  their  own  movement. 
I  prefer  to  have  my  liberty,  and  especially  not  to  be  worried, 
if  I  sometimes  fall  into  that  which  is  the  old  man's  liberty, 
better  called  his  infirmity,  of  repeating  what  he  has  said  be- 


54:8  LIFE   OF   HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

fore.  At  present,  I  liope  I  may  not  do  it,  but  I  am  going  on 
adventure  somewhat,  and  may  pass  into  regions  of  mental  ob- 
livion before  I  know  it. 

The  following  letters  contain  further  allusions  to  the  work 
begun  at  this  evening  hour  of  his  life : — 

To  Dr.  Bartol. 

Hartford,  January  27, 1875. 

My  dear  Feiend, — I  had  almost  forgotten  the  book,  but 
not  you.  It  is  really  good  to  hear  you  speak  once  more. 
You  do  not  feel  sure  that  I  am  going  to  meet  your  first  im- 
pressions, or  that  I  am  going  to  be  a  defender  of  orthodoxy. 
I  really  do  not  care  one  fig  whether  I  am  or  not,  if  only  I  can 
do  something  for  the  truth. 

I  think  I  know  exactly  where  you  are,  and  how  you  got 
there,  and  am  tolerably  sure  that  I  shall  never  be  there  my- 
self,— only  we  shall  not  be  so  far  apart  that  we  cannot  span 
the  distance  by  dear  recollections  and  embraces  of  love. 

I  am  just  setting  myself  to  a  book  on  the  Holy  Spirit  and 
Inspiration,  which  I  have  scarce  a  hope  of  living  to  finish. 
I  should  like  to  talk  with  you  about  it,  but  we  shall  have 
time  to  talk  it  over  hereafter. 

Give  my  best  love  to  Mrs.  B.  and  the  daughter.  I  remem- 
ber a  great  many  things  in  which  they  have  a  part. 

I  do  not  mean  this  for  a  farewell,  but  very  likely  it  is. 
Yours,  in  great  love,  Hoeace  Bushnell. 

The  next  letter  is  in  answer  to  one  received  from  Dr. 
George  Bacon,  enclosing  some  most  interesting  extracts  from 
Livingstone's  "  Last  Journals  "  (chapter  xxii.),  on  the  Atone- 
ment of  Christ,  and  the  Providence  of  God  as  both  compre- 
hensive and  minutely  vigilant : — 

Hartford,  February  21, 1875. 

My  deae  Feiend, — Your  letter  is  about  the  only  warm 
thing  I  have  had  in  my  hand  for  weeks,  and  of  course  I  am 
glad  to  feel  the  touch  of  it;  and  the  gale  you  waft  on  me 
from  Africa  is  none  the  less  comforting,  that  it  has  a  breath. 


A  SEVERE  ILLNESS.  549 

of  tliat  warm  region  in  it.     Could  it  ever  have  come  from 
Scotland  ? 

It  is  beautiful  to  see  what  treasures  God  will  open  to  minds 
that  are  deep  enough  in  sacrifice  and  loss  to  have  the  appetite 
waked  up  towards  them.  The  dear  great  hero ! — why,  he 
has  worlds-full  of  high  theology  with  hiin,  and  a  grand  theo- 
logic  endowment  besides.  I  do  not  wonder  at  the  enjoyment 
you  find  in  the  ending-off  story  of  his  career.  I  shall  look 
for  your  review,  and  probably  for  the  book  besides. 

I  spent  the  first  half  of  the  winter  in  preparing  my  volume 
on  the  Sacrifice  for  the  press,  whenever  it  may  be  wanted,* 
writing  out  some  notes  to  be  added  as  a  kind  of  appendix. 
In  these  notes  I  have  restated  a  few  points,  I  think,  to  ad- 
vantage. 

Since  this  was  done,  I  have  been,  if  you  will  believe  it, 
starting  a  new  book  on  "  The  Inspirations." 

My  object  is  to  make  out  a  full  statement  of  all  the  Holy 
Spirit  has  done,  or  is  doing,  in  character,  and  story,  and 
Scripture,  resolving  all  by  one  method.  I  have  made  more 
progress  than  I  expected,  but  I  do  not  really  expect  to  live 
the  labor  through.  I  undertake  it,  in  fact,  to  get  a  little 
sense  of  being  from  it.  I  wish  I  could  talk  the  matter  over 
with  you  at  some  of  the  points.  I  have  lost  ground  steadily, 
but  very  gently,  since  I  saw  you.  My  breath  is  more  and 
more  restricted. 

It  gives  me  great  satisfaction  to  see  that  3'ou  bear  the  har- 
ness. Watch  your  limits,  and  keep  a  hold-back  in  the  har- 
ness.    Give  my  special  regards  to  Mrs.  B. 

Yours  most  truly,  Hoeace  Busunell. 

The  work  begun  amidst  such  uncertainties  was  carried  on- 
ward through  several  chapters.  Then  the  thread  broke  off  in 
the  middle  of  a  sentence,  never  to  be  taken  up  again.  Early 
in  the  spring  he  became  very  ill,  but  was  as  unperturbed  by 
the  close  approach  of  death  as  he  had  been  by  its  distant 
shadow.     Two  or  three  years  before,  he  had  replied  to  an 

*  In  reference  to  a  proposed  new  edition. 


550  LIFE   OF    HORACE   BUSHNELL. 

iuquiry  about  liis  health,  — "  Ahnost  through;"  and  to  the 
further  question,  "  But  how  do  you  feel  about  it,  Doctor?" 
"  I  can  hardly  tell ;  but  as  for  this  dying,  about  which  we 
have  always  been  so  much  exercised,  I  liave  come  to  think 
there  isn't  much  to  it."  Now,  when  it  seemed  at  hand,  he 
was  of  like  mind.  In  the  quiet  watches  of  the  night,  his 
wife  asked  him  how  death  looked  to  him.  "  Yery  much  like 
ofoins  into  another  room,"  was  the  answer.  When,  with  a 
slight  transposition  of  its  words,  this  text  was  repeated  to 
him, — "  The  good,  and  perfect,  and  acceptable  will  of  God," 
he  replied,  "  Yes,  and  accejptedP 

When  his  mind  wandered  in  the  heat  of  fever,  its  grand 
orderliness  and  the  obedient  habit  of  his  soul  were  only  the 
more  revealed.  His  very  wanderings  had  an  instinctive  rea- 
sonableness, and  were  all  towards  God.  He  had  travelled 
that  way  too  long  to  lose  it  in  any  mist  of  the  brain.  He 
was  responsive  to  all  that  was  done  for  him,  often  in  his  own 
racy,  peculiar  manner  of  speech.  He  said  to  his  wife  on  one 
occasion,  when  she  was  trying  to  do  something  for  his  com- 
fort,— "  It's  a  pretty  delicate  matter  to  nurse  an  old  fellow  who 
doesn't  know  whether  he  wants  to  get  well  or  not."  One 
day  a  friend  said  to  him,  "  You  must  have  a  great  deal  of 
patience  to  lie  l^ere  so  long."  "  Well,"  was  the  reply,  "  I've 
a  good  deal  of  weakness  to  support  it." 

During  this  illness,  he  developed  a  new  taste  for  flowers, 
gazing  at  them  as  if  rapt  with  tlieir  beauty.  "  Why,  father," 
said  one  of  his  children,  "you  never  used  to  be  so  fond  of 
flowers."  "  My  child,  I  hadn't  time,"  he  replied.  To  a  simi- 
lar remark,  that  he  "seemed  to  be  taking  a  new  interest  in 
flowers," he  answered,  playfully, — "No,  that  isn't  it ;  they  are 
taking  a  new  interest  in  me.  That  rose,  now,  has  been  star- 
ing at  me  for  an  hour,  as  if  it  never  saw  a  man  before.  I 
wonder  what  it  thinks  of  me !"  At  another  time,  looking 
earnestly  at  some  exquisite  rose-buds,  he  exclaimed, — "  What 
a  remarkable  prophecy  of  beauty  to  be  born  !" 

Finally,  the  life-power  in  him  prevailed,  and  he  began  very 
slowly  to  come  back  to  the  world  he  had  thought  to  leave 
forever.     A  friend  said  to  him  at  this  time, — "  What  do  you 


INCIDENTS  OF  HIS  ILLNESS.  551 

do  with  yourself?  do  you  think?"  "No,"  with  a  shake  of 
the  head,  "I  don't  do  that,  —  I  don't  like  it;  it  costs  too 
much ;  I  say,  The  Lord  reigns  /" 

As  he  began  to  recover,  he  wanted  some  sense  of  contact 
with  the  outer  world.  He  liked  to  keep  near  him  the  cane 
made  by  himself,  and  so  long  the  companion  of  his  walks. 
Grasping  that,  he  seemed  to  grasp  life  once  more.  But  bet- 
ter than  all  was  some  human  contact  from  without.  After  a 
visit  from  a  young  friend,  whom  he  called  "  one  of  his  sons," 
and  in  whose  vigorous  presence  he  felt  the  pulse  of  healthful 
life,  he  exclaimed,  "It's  a  gospel  to  see  that  fellow,  so  hearty 
and  outspoken.     I  don't  know  another  such  man." 

He  was  told  that  a  poor  colored  man  had  been  to  the  door 
to  inquire  after  him,  and  the  remark  was  added, — "  It  is  good 
to  have  friends  among  Christ's  poor."  "  Yes,"  he  said,  put- 
ting it  in  his  strong  way;  "you  may  have  all  the  rest  this 
side  heaven, — give  me  those."  And  when  he  heard  that  a 
poor  woman,  whom  he  had  befriended,  and  some  other  hum- 
ble friends  were  praying  for  him,  he  said, — "I  don't  know 
but  I  am  kept  alive  by  the  pra3^ers  of  these  people." 

A  friend  who  was  passing  through  town,  and  had  a  short 
interview  with  him,  has  since  written: — "I  never  shall  for- 
get the  last  time  I  saw  him,  when  he  w\as  still  very  ill,  on 
the  very  edge  of  the  other  world, — it  seemed  to  me,  already 
in  that  w^orld.  What  impressed  me  profoundly  w\as,  that 
while  the  characteristics  of  his  personality  were  as  strong  as 
ever  in  this  life,  he  was  so  spiritualized  as  to  seem  belonging 
already  to  another  life,  to  be  the  one  of  the  '  invisible  com- 
pany' permitted  to  be  visible  to  us.  And  I  remember  say- 
ing that  if  I  doubted  a  future  existence,  seeing  him  then 
would  remove  such  doubts.  How  real  the  other  world  seem- 
ed to  me !  how  near  and  pleasant  it  became,  as  I  sat  by  his 
bedside  and  looked  upon  his  sweet  and  saintly  presence !  Yet, 
with  all  this,  there  was  no  word  said  by  him  of  the  future, 
except  a  brief  message  of  love  and  farewell." 

As  the  summer  advanced,  he  was  able  to  drive  out  and  to 
walk  a  little.  He  spent  hours  on  his  beloved  Park,  sitting 
under  some  tree,  or  on  some  great  block  of  stone  at  the  suni- 

36 


552  LIFE   OF   HORACE  BUSIINELL. 

mit  of  the  liill^  where  he  could  watch  the  building  of  the 
State  Capitol,  in  which  ho  took  great  interest.  He  received 
with  a  gentle  cordiality  the  friends  who  came  to  greet  him, 
flaming  up  sometimes  into  his  old  fire  and  intensity.  But 
generally  his  mind'  was  very  quiet,  and  withdrawn  into  its 
own  peaceful  recesses,  not  having  the  impulse  or  force  to 
reach  the  surface  easily.  It  was  a  pleasant  summer  to  him ; 
and  to  those  who  were  much  with  him,  it  was  a  look  into 
heaven. 

In  the  cooler  weather  of  the  autumn  he  was  able  to  be  at 
church  again.  This  was  a  great  pleasure  to  him.  Lingering 
after  the  service,  one  Sunday,  he  said,  very  emphatically,  to 
Dr.  Burton, — "  I  do  love  to  go  to  church  !"  He  sat  in  a  chair 
in  front,  that  he  might  the  more  easily  hear  the  service.  In 
this  way  his  face  was  half  turned  towards  the  congregation, 
some  of  whom  found  their  eyes  irresistibly  attracted  to  it, 
and  resting  on  it  as  on  something  almost  sacred.  One  of 
them  said  that,  at  such  times,  these  quaint  lines  always  came 
to  mind : — 

"  His  stainless  earthy  shell 

Was  w  orn  so  pure  and  thin, 
That  through  the  callow  angel  showed, 

Half-hatched,  that  stirred  within." 

He  was  much  interested  this  autumn  in  a  proposed  plan 
for  a  complete  new  edition  of  his  works,  as  Avill  be  seen  from 
the  three  following  letters  to  Dr.  George  Bacon,  who  had 
kindly  offered  his  assistance  in  carrying  forward  the  arrange- 
ments. The  last  of  these  letters  shows  for  what  reasons 
the  plan  was  relinquished,  never  to  be  resumed  during  his 

lifetime. 

To  Dr.  George  Bacon. 

Hartford,  September  27, 1875. 
My  dear  Fkiend, — Your  letter  the  other  day  started  me 
off  on  a  question  or  two  that  has  delayed  the  answer;  par- 
ticularly one  that  you  name, — "What  is  to  be  done  about  "  God 
in  Christ,"  "  Christ  in  Theology,"  etc.  %  I  have  been  looking 
over  the  first  of  the  two,  and  have  made  up  my  mind  that 
it  must  be  included.     For  it  is  the  set-off,  so  to  speak,  of  all 


LETTER  ABOUT  HIS  WORKS,  553 

that  I  liave  done,  tlie  manifesto ;  "  Christ  in  Theology,"  has 
no  such  consequence,  being  only  the  answer  I  made  to  my 
accusers. 

This  leaves  only  the  question  of  publishing  now  the  amend- 
ed edition  of  "Vicarious  Sacrifice."  I  wish  I  were  not  haunt- 
ed by  doubts  in  regard  to  the  question,  whether  to  publish 
the  old  volume  as  it  was,  and  the  new  as  it  is, — two  separate 
volumes.  .  ,  . 

Hartford,  November  2, 1875. 

My  deak  Fkiend, — On  the  whole,  I  have  concluded  to  have 
no  farther  proceeding  in  the  matter  even  of  the  one  book 
that  you  kindly  undertook  to  set  forward.  I  prefer  to  have 
nothing  farther  done. 

The  plan  they  suggest  of  making  this  last  volume  the  first 
of  the  complete  series  is  particularly  not  pleasant.  I  have  a 
decided  aversion  to  setting  first  what  corrects  a  good  many 
things  in  my  previous  issues.  The  only  way  endurable  is  to 
put  matters  historically,  and  let  the  free  movement  be  always 
correcting  itself;  the  riper,  that  which  is  more  green  or  in- 
sufficiently grown.  Probably  this  means  a  good  deal  more 
to  me  than  it  would  to  most ;  for  I  have  always  been  trying 
to  mend.  I  feel  this,  too,  the  more  pungently,  that  I  am  go- 
ing to  want  my  two  volumes,  "  God  in  Christ "  and  "  Christ 
in  Theology,"  in  the  first  places,  jnst  because,  though  green, 
they  give  my  points  of  departure  for  all  that  comes  after.  I 
have  been  looking  them  over,  and  find  them  to  contain  a 
great  deal  of  my  best  matter,  as  well  as  that  which  is  the 
reason  of  all  that  comes  after. 

With  greater  thanks  to  you  than  I  can  express,  and  with 
best  regards  to  Mrs.  B.,  I  am  yours, 

HOEACE    BuSHNELL. 

Hartford,  November  17, 1875. 
My  deae  Beothee, — I  am  wishing  to  hear  how  you  are 
getting  on,  not  a  little  concerned  lest  I  may  have  been  a  part 
of  the  cause  of  your  difficulty.    I  am  very  sorry  that  I  allow- 
ed myself  an}"  such  liberty  as  can  possibly  have  made  room 


5o-l  LIFE  OF   HORACE   BUSIINELL, 

for  this  concern.  I  was  startled  by  your  letter,  and  instantly 
took  myself  out  of  your  hands,  without  standing  even  for  the 
decency  of  consultation,  resolved  to  stop  any  further  pretext 
of  damage  from  me. 

If  you  will  not  be  incommoded  by  the  request  of  a  few 
lines  from  you,  telling  me  how  you  are,  and  what  the  phy- 
sician says  of  you,  I  shall  be  much  obliged.  One  thing  is 
now  more  than  ever  clear,  viz.,  that  you  will  have  to  give 
up  all  the  extras,  and  sail  your  boat  closer  in  to  the  shore. 
I  hope  it  will  not  turn  out  that  you  have  received  any  fatal 
injury. 

Would  that  I  were  in  a  case  to  offer  you  some  little  help, 
but  I  am  now  so  weak  that  any  overdoing  of  talk,  however 
pleasant,  brings  on  its  penalty.  I  do  not  exactly  make  up 
my  mind  that  I  shall  be  through  before  the  spring, — there 
is  no  use  in  such  a  conclusion ;  the  better  way  and  more 
Christian  is,  I  think,  to  put  it  down,  that  when  the  time 
comes  it  will  come.  Besides,  there  is  a  little  volunteer 
weakness  in  the  look,  when  a  man  begins  to  chant  his  death- 
song  years  before  the  time.  If  I  could  have  everything  as 
I  wish,  I  would  make  sure  only  of  a  more  and  more  com- 
plete fitness  for  the  call,  come  when  it  may.  And  this  is 
what  I  am  now  endeavoring,  I  hope  with  some  effect.  I  do 
nothing  but  simply  talk  with  God,  taking  small  draughts, 
but  oh,  how  strengthening  and  sweet !  from  the  Good  Word, 
singing  a  song  of  praise  witliout  sound,  and  letting  go  very 
much  even  the  family  affairs.  Sometimes,  in  a  quiet,  soft 
air,  I  creep  out  a  short  way,  and  return  with  a  mind  part- 
ly ventilated  and  a  body  physically  refreshed.  Sometimes 
a  friend  coming  in  tries  to  entertain  me  and  I  to  be  en- 
tertained. I  do  a  great  deal  of  cougliing,  and  I  repair  the 
damages  by  a  great  deal  of  sleep,  which  I  mean  to  have 
my  rest  with  God,  for  that  is  the  main  element  now.  By 
all  which,  you  see  that  I  am  narrowing  in  more  or  less  per- 
ceptibly. 

I  none  the  less  hope  to  hear  that  you  are  mending  and 
taking  up  the  stitches  dropped.     Tell  me  so,  if  you  can. 

Yours  ever,  Horace  Bushnell. 


LETTER  OF  THANKS.  555 

To  Mrs.  E.  C.  Apthorp. 

Hartford,  November  15, 1875. 
My  deak  Mother, — I  want  to  thank  you  for  the  beautiful 
birds,  or  rather  flock  of  birds,  by  which  you  have  undertaken 
to  feed  me,  even  as  the  Lord  brought  up  quails  to  cover  the 
camp  at  even  and  keep  his  hungry  people  quiet.  However, 
I  do  not  suppose  that  you  thought  me  to  be  quite  as  restive 
and  ill-tempered  as  they ;  for  you  know  yourself,  by  your  own 
experience,  that  we  may  fall  under  encumbrances  of  years  and 
manifold  iniirmity,  without  any  loss  of  patience  or  disturb- 
ance of  the  state  of  comfort.  You  and  I  can  journey  on 
through  our  desert,  I  think,  without  any  special  fomentations 
of  delicacy  or  delectations  to  keep  us  in  peace.  Still,  it  is 
none  the  less  welcome  that  we  have  friends  that  show  us 
their  care  of  us,  by  the  reminders  of  their  love,  the  tokens 
that  signify  the  tenderness  of  their  zeal  to  make  us  liappy, 
when  plainly  enough  they  perceive  that  we  are  losing  out  and 
leaving  behind  many  of  the  pleasures  that  are  no  longer  able 
to  yield  us  satisfaction.  I  speak  in  this  manner  for  us  both, 
but  not  as  forgetting  that  there  are  twenty  years  of  distance 
between  us,  and  perhaps  more.  And  yet  we  are  so  nearly  of 
the  same  age,  wlien  measured  by  our  decay  and  dilapidations, 
that  I  commonly  assume  our  correspondence  in  the  sense  of 
loss  and  the  steady  nearing  of  our  departure.  We  cannot 
hold  on  a  great  deal  longer,  as  we  perfectly  know.  I  hope 
we  are  both  ready  for  the  change,  and  can  rest  our  souls  on  ■ 
God,  only  asking  that  we  may  bide  our  time.  I  see  nothing 
in  it  that  Christ  does  not  allow  us  to  meet  in  all  sweetness  of 
confidence.  And  when  his  call  arrives,  what  can  be  more 
welcome  than  to  drop  our  long-worn,  nearly  worn-out  days, 
and  take  a  fresh  beginning  ?  Oh  that  beginning  \  How  much 
it  signifies  to  us,  that  it  cannot  signify  to  those  early  in  life  ! 
Nothing  of  expectation  to  them,  it  is  a  thing  of  how  great 
expectation  to  us  !  H  it  should  put  us  in  a  hurry,  or  a  ten- 
dency to  it,  I  do  not  see  that  we  should  be  much  in  fault.  Is 
there  not  a  sense,  too,  in  which  we  are  called  to  be  looking 
for  and  hasting  unto  the  coming  of  the  day  of  the  Lord  ? 
Yours  evermore,  Horace  Bushnell. 


556  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

This  little  note  and  its  answer  will  easily  explain  them- 
selves : — 

Deak  Geandpapa, — I  am  coming  over  on  Saturday,  and  I 
hope  that  I  shall  see  all  of  yon,  and  I  hope  that  you  will 
come  out  on  Thanksgiving  and  join  us  in  the  fun,  and  have  a 
piece  of  pie,  and  play  snap-dragon,  and  stay  as  long  as  you 
can ;  and  we  would  be  very  glad  if  you  would  stay  until 
Christmas.  Yours  truly,  Chaeley. 

Hartford,  November  24, 1875. 

Deah  Chaeley, — It  is  a  very  nice  thing  to  get  letter 
No.  1,  and  I  thank  you  most  heartily  for  it.  Let  it  be  fol- 
lowed by  No.  2,  and  as  many  others  as  may  be.  I  rejoice  to 
see  that  you  are  coming  on  so  well  in  writing. 

As  to  the  "j)ie,"  and  the  "snap-dragon,"  and  the  "fun" 
generally,  you  know  that  I  am  getting  to  be  an  old  man,  and 
am  less  capable  of  frisking  and  rollicking  in  such  kind  of 
pleasures,  but  I  can  enjoy  them  even  the  more  when  I  see 
the  young  folks  enjoy  them. 

But  I  shall  have  to  keep  my  Thanksgiving,  for  the  same 
reason,  on  this  side  of  the  river,  where  it  will  be  a  good  part 
of  my  pleasure  to  know  that  God  has  given  me  so  many  dear 
grandchildren,  who  will  be  trying  to  make  a  bright  Thanks- 
giving, and  will  somehow  find  a  way  to  do  it. 
•  Still,  let  us  see  you  on  Saturday,  as  you  promise,  and  we 
will  try  to  go  as  far  in  with  you  as  we  can.  Perhaps  we  shall 
be  able  to  get  our  old,  clumsy  mood  brushed  up  into  a  frisky 
one,  and  find  how  to  play  a  little  with  you. 

Give  my  dearest  love  to  your  father  and  mother,  and  just 
as  dear  to  the  other  children,  the  sister  and  brothers. 

God  bless  you  in  a  lively  time ! 

Your  loving  grandfather,  Hoeace  Bushnell. 

To  the  Rev.  William  Adams,  D.D. 

Hartford,  November  24, 1875. 
My  deae  Classmate  and  Brother, — How  far  off  are  years 
of  silence  and  virtual  non-intercourse  from  proving  the  fact 


LETTER  TO  A  FOKMER  CLASSMATE.        557 

of  indifference  or  oblivion !  A  letter  passing  conies  with  a 
shock,  and  it  is  as  if  the  seeming  dead  relation  sprung  up  in 
a  mutual  discovery  of  life.  And  the  surprise  is  only  the 
more  welcome  that  the  life,  not  really  gone  out,  is  simply 
waked  into  consciousness  and  audible  self-assertion.  Yester- 
day morning,  at  breakfast,  I  as  little  expected  a  letter  from 
my  old  class-brother,  Adams,  as  I  did  from  Homer,  and  Caesar, 
and  other  college  acquaintances.  The  more  truly  I  thank  you 
for  this  volunteer  remembrance.  My  heart  springs  uj)  to  it, 
and  words  throng  to  me  asking  leave  to  answer. 

The  truth  is,  that  you  were  not  as  far  off  as  you  seemed.  I 
had  been  watching  for  you  in  the  silent  years,  noting  your 
promotions  following  and  to  follow,  and  had  so  been  freshing 
more  and  more,  and  consecrating  "by  a  more  fixed  valuation, 
the  interest  I  began  to  feel  in  you  and  claim  as  my  property, 
so  many  yeai's  ago.  You  were  not  gone  out,  or  gone  by,  in 
the  fresh  Aniens  I  had  been  recording. 

Have  you  never  observed,  that  while  reminders  are  need- 
ed even  to  hold  a  man  back  from  utter  oblivion,  who  never 
gets  capacity  to  be  more  to  you  than  a  dot  or  full  period, 
a  man  who  grows  large  in  his  honors  and  public  successes 
quickens  more  and  more  estimation,  and  is  writing  out,  as 
it  were,  his  record  of  honor  and  love  in  our  hearts?  To 
have  simply  known  a  good,  great  man,  though  fifty  years 
ago,  even  if  we  have  not  seen  him  since  that  time,  is  to 
feel  blessed  in  him.  These  thoughts  I  write  simply  to  ex- 
press my  thanks  for  your  letter,  and  tell  you  the  happiness  it 
gives  me. 

Well,  my  honored  brother,  you  and  I  are  getting  far  on  in 
our  journey.  What  is  done  is  done,  what  remains  to  be  done 
by  me  is  next  to  nothing.  When  they  ask  me  in  the  street, 
"How  is  your  health  to-day?"  my  very  common  answer  is 
that  I  have  no  health.  If  I  go  into  the  street  in  a  little  more 
hopeful  mood,  thinking  that  I  am  now  going,  perhaps,  to  un- 
dertake iJiat  work,  I  am  commonly  cured  of  it  before  another 
day.  No,  I  give  u]3  my  projects  and  my  subjects,  and  gather 
myself  in  to  get  my  last  lessons  from  God.  And  to  this  I  am 
bending  with  great  hopefulness  and  refreshment.     Is  he  not 


558  LIFE  OF  HORACE  BUSHNELL. 

with  me?  Am  not  I  with  him?  I  do  verily  think  so.  The 
last  winter  I  was  near  going,  and  carried  my  flag  of  expecta- 
tion a  long  time  in  my  hand,  but  I  came  back  as  from  the 
dead,  both  to  myself  and  others.  My  story  was  that  St. 
Peter  met  me  at  the  gate  and  sent  me  back  to  get  ready. 
Finding  nothing  else  to  do,  I  yet  have  not  found  that  I  was 
altogether  unready.  God  help  us  both  to  be  completely 
ready,  and  to  meet  on  the  other  shore  as  old  friends,  not 
ashamed  to  be  accepted. 

Yours  evermore,  Hoeace  Bushnell. 

To  Mr.  Thomas  Winship. 

Hartford,  December,  1875. 

My  dear  Bkother,— I  am  glad  to  get  your  letter,  partly 
because  it  shows  to  me  that  you  are  well  enough  to  write, 
and  partly  because  it  offers  a  chance  to  converse  without 
talking.  I  have  been  about  and  about  calling  on  you  for  a 
long  time,  but  feel  so  prostrate  in  strength,  that  I  shrink 
from  trying  to  understand  enough  from  the  voice  to  keep 
anything  in  life,  and  so  let  the  time  slip  on,  and  my  disincli- 
nation, too,  slip  by.  In  fact,  there  seems  to  be  a  great  deal 
more  in  the  old  remembrances  of  times  and  communions 
gone  by,  than  there  could  be  in  any  tug  of  mutual  under- 
standing and  communication  now.  No  two  things  appear  to 
be  much  wider  asunder  than  the  labor  of  a  strained,  half-sig- 
nificant talk,  and  the  abounding,  almost  bounding  liberty  of 
a  full,  free  soul-flow,  such  as  we  have  known  in  other  times. 
How  good  and  blessed  will  the  day  be  when  we  shall  have 
tongues,  and  voices,  and  ears  again !  Oh,  what  a  liberty  of 
the  saints  will  it  be,  when  the  Word  that  was  in  the  begin- 
ning with  God  pours  out  free  expression  again,  and  runs 
through  all  the  emancipated  throngs  of  the  glorified,  quick- 
ening their  intelligences  and  moving  their  glorious  impulse 
in  full  flood, — no  clogs,  no  suppressions,  no  scant  apprehen- 
sions, knowing  all  as  they  are  known  ! 

I  perceive  by  your  letter  that  you  seem  to  be  nearing  the 
land  of  promise,  and  in  this  I  rejoice  with  you.    It  is  good  to 


LAST  LETTERS.  559 

look  over,  and  claim  our  inheritance,  and  get  naturalized  in 
feeling  beforehand. 

I  have  known  you  many  years,  and  it  is  a  most  pleasant 
thing  that  I  can  have  no  doubt  of  you.  I  tliink  you  can  have 
no  doubt  of  yourself.  If  I,  too,  am  making  no  presumptuous 
mistake,  we  shall  know  each  other  again  after  a  very  short 
time,  and  I  shall  have  a  chance  of  doing  what  has  long  been 
the  expected  privilege  of  my  heart,  that  is,  to  make  you  due 
acknowledgment  for  the  help  you  have  given  me,  and  the 
strength  you  have  added  to  my  w^eakness  in  former  days. 
You  have  been  faithful  for  me  and  to  me,  and  I  then  shall 
be  able  to  say,  with  fuller  voice  than  now,  "  Let  God  be 
thanked  that  he  gave  me  a  faithful  man."  What  other  gift 
more  precious  does  God  ever  bestow  ? 

Yours,  with  great  affection,  Hoeace  Bushnell. 

During  his  severe  illness  in  the  previous  spring,  be  had  re- 
ceived the  following  letter,  to  which  the  next  is  his  reply, 
written  on  the  last  day  of  the  year : — 

Boston,  April  8,1875. 

My  dear  Fkiend, — I  hear  of  your  increased  illness.  Ac- 
cept my  persuasion  of  your  everlasting  life  and  health.  You 
and  I  believe  in  the  same  Being  and  Destiny.  Should  it  be 
appointed  for  you  to  take  passage  first,  take  my  love  on  board 
the  wondrous  vessel  you  sail  in  ;  and  send  such  token,  as  you 
may,  back  to  my  soul,  of  your  blessed  making  port. 

From  one  to  whom  your  Inmost  is  dear. 

C.  A.  Baetol. 

Hartford,  December  31, 1875. 
My  dear  Friend, — Your  very  dear  letter,  which  came  to 
me  last  spring  as  a  waft  of  fresh  life,  when  I  was  just  climb- 
ing up  out  of  the  river,  has  not  been  answered  yet.  Had  it 
been  less  valued,  it  would  have  been  answered  sooner.  But  I 
have  waited  to  be  myself  again  ;  for  just  to  put  words  togeth- 
er in  the  clumsy  conjunctions  of  faculty  benumbed,  brushing 
off  the  dew  of  old  remembrance  in  words  that  I  would  like  to 
answer  fitly,  is  no  comfort  to  me  or  courtesy  to  them. 


560  LIFE   OF  IIOKACE  BUSHNELL. 

For  the  first  six  months  I  made  only  the  slowest  possible 
improvement ;  but  since  that  time  I  seem  to  have  been  los- 
ing ground  rather,  till  now  it  begins  to  be  clear  that  your  let- 
ter never  will  be  answered,  unless  it  should  be  true,  in  a  sense 
not  intended,  that  I  am  now  the  "  half-way  over ;"  for  it  re- 
ally seems  to  me  that  a  full  half  my  faculty, — the  better  and 
more  capable, — is  somehow  escaped,  and  that  only  the  duller 
and  more  wooden  part  remains.  However  this  may  be,  my 
boat  swings  drowsily,  and  I  am  no  way  disturbed  or  put  to 
the  strain  by  what  is  before  me.  Is  it  that  I  am  believing 
less  than  I  did,  or  more  ?  Is  it  that  I  have  found  a  way  in 
behind  the  visions,  where  the  Word  of  God  is,  and  seeing  all 
in  him,  hold  everything  easy  and  quiet? 

Well,  my  dear  brother,  I  will  only  say,  God  bless  3^ou,  and 
farewell.  We  shall  touch  bottom  here  shortly,  and  that,  I 
hope,  in  righteousness. 

With  great  regard  that  cannot  die,  your  brother, 

Horace  Bushnell. 

President  Porter,  in  the  Memoinal  Sermon,  speaks  of  a 
last  interview  with  him,  at  the  close  of  the  year,  and  of  the 
impression  left  by  it : — 

"In  one  of  the  last  days  of  the  last  year,  I  spent  two  or 
three  hours  with  him  in  what  I  believed  would  be  a  farewell 
visit.  He  was  cheerful  in  spirits  and  buoyant  in  humor.  He 
talked  of  the  present  and  the  past  with  more  than  his  usual 
spirit  and  freedom,  but  with  an  indescribable  simplicity  and 
loveliness.  At  parting  he  asked  me  to  come  again  for  anoth- 
er three  hours  as  pleasant  as  these.  I  bade  him  good-bye, 
never  to  meet  with  him  again  in  what  we  call  the  present 
life.  I  know  not  how  or  where  we  may  meet  again,  nor 
with  what  surroundings :  whether  in  scenes  to  which  earth's 
scenery  has  no  analogies,  or  in  a  place  like  that  where  his 
boyhood  was  spent — '  a  land  of  brooks  of  water,  of  fountains 
and  depths  that  spring  out  of  valley  and  hills.'  But  of  this 
I  am  certain,  that  wherever  and  whatever  that  land  may  be, 
'  the  glory  of  God  will  lighten  it,  and  the  Lamb  will  be  the 
light  thereof.' " 


GRADUAL  DECLINE.  501 

On  the  first  day  of  tlie  now  year,  one  of  the  most  exquisite 
of  winter  days,  Dr.  Bushnell  drove,  with  his  wife,  ten  miles 
eastward  of  the  Connecticut,  and  s])ent  a  week  with  his  son 
and  daugliter,  and  among  his  grandchildren.  After  his  re- 
turn to  Hartford,  he  was  able,  till  the  end  of  the  month,  to 
drive  in  pleasant  weather  and  to  take  a  walk  now  and  then. 

Gradually  he  sank  into  an  illness  much  like  that  of  the 
year  before, — so  much  so,  that  the  two  illnesses  are  almost 
one  in  memory.  Only  he  was,  if  anything,  more  hidden 
away  in  the  secret  of  God's  presence  than  before.  One  day, 
his  wife  read  to  him  the  fourteenth  and  fifteenth  chapters  of 
the  Gospel  according  to  St.  John,  beginning,  "  Let  not  your 
heart  be  troubled,"  and  containing  our  Lord's  farewell  con- 
versation with  his  disciples;  and  when  the  reading  was  end- 
ed, he  said,  as  if  in  the  very  presence  of  that  wondrous  scene, 
"  What  a  soft  and  sweet  infolding  of  all  highest  things — what 
a  soft  and  sweet  infolding  of  all  highest  things !" 

The  other  world  drew  him  more  and  more  surely  to  itself, 
but  he  did  not  cease  to  love  this  dear  earth  where  he  had 
so  long  dwelt,  its  things  of  beauty,  its  sweet  human  relation- 
ships. One  afternoon,  after  he  had  lain  almost  unconscious 
for  some  time,  he  was  told  that  a  picture  held  up  before 
him  had  been  painted  for  him  by  one  of  his  daughters.  Im- 
jnediately  he  was  full  of  interest  in  it,  turned  it  this  way 
and  that  with  trembling  hand,  to  get  the  best  light,  mak- 
ing his  comments  on  it  in  a  mingling  of  fatherly  gratifica- 
tion and  playful  criticism.  Shortly  after,  he  held,  in  the 
same  way,  a  magnificent  spray  of  rose-colored  azalea  which 
had  been  sent  him,  gazing  at  it  with  an  admiring  wonder, 
as  if  it  were  some  heavenly  fiower,  and  murmuring,  "Beau- 
tiful! beautiful!" 

A  gentle  but  undying  humor  flickered  to  the  last  through 
the  few  words  he  was  able  to  say.  A  refreshing  hour  of  sleep 
was  "a  practical  little  nap;"  some  successful  ministering  to 
his  needs  was  "  a  productive  comfort."  As  the  days  went  by 
without  marked  change,  he  said  to  one  of  his  children, — "  It 
is  wonderful  to  me  how  I  hesitate,  and  draw  out,  and  spin 
along;"  and  to  a  friend  coming  into  his  room  after  some 


562  '  LIFE   OF   HORACE   BUSHNELL. 

hours'  absence,  he  stretched  out  liis  hand,  with  a  smile,  say- 
ing,— "  Soul  and  body  together !" 

One  night,  waking  suddenl}^  from  sleep,  he  exclaimed, 
"  Oh,  God  is  a  wonderful  Being !"  And  wdien  his  daugh- 
ter, sitting  by  his  side,  replied,  "  Yes ;  is  he  with  you  ?"  he  an- 
swered, slowly,  "  Yes,  in  a  certain  sense  he  is  with  me",  and" 
— then  came  a  pause — "and  I  have  no  doubt  he  is  with  me 
in  a  sense  which  I  do  not  imagine.  I  account  it  one  of  the 
greatest  felicities  to  have  a  nature  capable  of  such  changes," 
— meaning,  probably,  such  movements  of  God  in  it.  Soon 
after  this  he  said,  still  more  slowly,  and  with  pauses  intermin- 
gled, for  he  was  very  weak, — "  Well,  now,  we  are  all  going 
home  together;  and  I  say,  the  Lord  be  with  you  —  and  in 
grace — and  peace — and  love — and  that  is  the  way  I  have  come 
along  home."  It  was  his  dying  benediction,  spoken  out  of 
the  almost  sleep  and  exhaustion  of  his  mind. 

On  the  15th  of  February,  he  received  a  message  from  the 
Common  Council  of  Hartford,  announcing  to  him  the  pas- 
sage by  them,  on  the  previous  evening,  of  the  following  Res- 
olntion  to  call  the  Park  by  his  name : — 

'■'■Whereas,  The  park  laid  out  by  the  city  iu  1854  has  not  received  any 
name ; 

"And  whereas,  The.  plan  of  using  the  land  lying  between  Elm  Street 
and  the  Little  River  for  a  public  park,  owes  its  origin  and  successful  ex- 
ecution, in  a  large  degree,  to  the  foresight,  to  the  able  and  earnest  advo- 
cacy, and  the  influence,  freely  and  with  generous  persistence  exerted  in 
public,  in  private,  and  through  the  press,  of  Horace  Bushnell ; 

"And  whereas,  It  is  wise  and  fitting  that  the  name  of  a  citizen  standing 
foremost  among  those  who  have  achieved  enduring  fame  in  the  field  of 
intellectual  effort  should  be  associated  with  the  public  works  of  the  city, 
in  which  his  manhood's  life  has  been  spent,  to  which  he  has  been  devot- 
edly attached,  and  for  whose  adornment,  improvement,  and  general  good 
he  has  been  ever  ready  to  give  his  time,  his  influence,  and  the  riches  of 
his  genius; 

"  Now,  there/ore,  in  recognition  of  a  reputation  in  whose  honors  the 
city  of  his  adoption  shares,  and  of  labors  for  the  public  good  whose  re- 
sults will  add  to  the  happiness  and  welfore  of  every  citizen  ; 

"  Resolved,  That  the  public  park  now  commonly  called  '  The  Park  '  be 
and  hereby  is  named  '  Bushnell  Park.'  " 


LAST  IIOUKS.  563 

When  this  announcement  readied  him,  it  was  his  L^st  day 
of  anything  like  conscious  life  ;  but  he  seemed  to  follow,  witli 
sympathy  at  least,  the  reading  of  those  words  so  honorable  to 
him  and  to  his  fellow-citizens.  When  he  was  told  that  the 
poor  Irishman  w^ho  brought  the  message  had  said, "  This  is 
how  we  all  wanted  it  to  be,"  his  face  lighted  up  with  a  beau- 
tiful smile,  as  it  did  again  when  his  physician  said  to  him, 
"  Your  park.  Doctor ;"  and  he  repeated,  as  if  to  himself,  "  My 
park !" 

No  monument  that  the  city  of  his  affections  might  have 
reared  to  his  memory  could  have  so  fitly  commemorated  his 
services,  or  so  perfectly  satisfied  his  feeling.  It  was  singular- 
ly fitting,  also,  that  this  tribute  should  have  reached  him  at 
that  closing  hour,  connecting  him  to  the  last  with  the  world 
to  whose  welfare  he  had  so  largely  devoted  his  life.  It  was 
the  voice  of  his  fellow-men  saying,  "  Well  done,  thou  good 
and  faithful  servant." 

But  now  he  was  to  hear  those  words  spoken  by  Him  who 
had  been  the  supreme  object  of  his  life,  and  who  alone  can 
speak  them  as  one  having  authority,  or  add  to  them  that  glo- 
rious confirmation, — "  Enter  thou  into  the  joy  of  thy  Lord." 

Early  in  the  morning  of  the  ITth  of  February,  1876,  while 
the  stars  w^ere  still  shining  in  the  clear  and  silent  heaven, 
Horace  Bushnell  passed  away  to  that  world,  on  whose  borders 
he  had  so  long  dwelt. 


The  sermon  delivered  at  his  funeral  in  the  Pai-k  Church, 
in  presence  of  a  great  throng  of  his  old  j)eople  and  friends, 
by  his  successor,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Burton,  contained  this  fresh 
and  final  interpretation  of  his  mind  and  character  : — 

"  Dr.  Bushneirs  mind  was  one  of  the  rarest.  What  it  was 
in  his  books,  that  it  was  in  private,  with  certain  very  piquant 


564:  LIFE   OF   HORACE   BUSIINELL. 

and  iiiiforgetable  personal  flavors  added.  It  was  original  al- 
most beyond  precedent,  in  the  sense  that  every  thought  put 
forth  from  it  was  a  pure  outgo  from  its  own  self.  His  pow- 
er to  push  his  mind  tlirough  hours  and  hours  of  continuous 
Labor  had  diminished,  of  course ;  but  wliensoever  it  did  stir, 
it  was  the  same  teeming  and  amazing  thing  as  in  his  prime. 
It  was  imaginative,  too,  even  magnificently  so  at  times ;  in- 
deed, it  was  not  possible  for  him  to  speak  ten  sentences  on 
any  subject  without  bringing  this  great  faculty  of  his  into 
the  field,  with  its  illuminations,  and  ornamentations,  and  out- 
springs  of  intuition ;  and  all  readers  of  his  books  know  how 
all  sorts  of  felicitous  analogies  were  wont  to  flock  in  for  the 
illustration  of  his  themes.  It  was  characteristic  of  his  mind, 
moreover,  that  it  was  independent,  courageous  always,  inci- 
sive, imperative,  not  cumbered  by  excessive  and  undigested 
reading,  almost  irreverent  at  times  towards  mere  authority, 
too  little  considerate  of  the  wisdom  of  the  past,  but  truth- 
loving  (intensely  so),  debative,  soldierly,  massive,  mobile,  im- 
pressi^ble  to  every  touch  as  the  sea  to  the  swaying  of  the 
winds, — a  mind  so  royal  in  many  w^ays  as  to  waken  a  never- 
failing  and  profound  admiration  in  those  who  knew  him  best 
and  were  well  adjusted  to  him.  .  .  . 

"  Those  of  us  who  w^ere  personally  and  closely  acquainted 
with  this  man  will  very  sadly  miss  him.  His  humor;  the 
fine  insistence  of  his  voice ;  the  sinew,  pith,  and  splendor  of 
his  diction,  which  never  failed  him  even  in  his  most  extem- 
poraneous utterances ;  his  rich,  inspired  prejudices  and  frank 
contempt  for  several  things  on  earth  ;  his  very  quotable,  sen- 
tentious sayings,  some  last  one  of  which  was  always  likely  to 
be  circulating  in  this  community  ;  his  sharp  outlook  continu- 
ally upon  the  moving,  great  w^orld ;  his  beautiful  ability  to 
revise  his  own  opinions,  so  that,  meeting  him  any  day,  you 
were  not  unlikely  to  be  told  by  him  of  some  more  felicitous, 
and  comprehensive,  and  unanswerable  statement  of  some  old 
point  of  truth  which  he  had  just  worked  out ;  his  prayers,  so 
rich  and  fresh  with  thought,  so  direct,  true,  and  sweet  in  feel- 
ing ;  the  power  of  various  kinds,  by  which  in  his  day  he  made 
the  pulpit  of  the  North  Church  to  be  one  of  the  thrones  of 


EXTRACTS  FROM  FUNERAL  SERMON.        565 

the  world;  his  perfectly  undaunted  outlook  into  eternity; 
his  high-hearted  fight  with  disccise  and  death  for  the  last  ten 
years;  the  youthfulncss  which  beat  irrepressible  under  his 
old  age ;  his  wiry  form,  determined  and  energetic  to  the  last ; 
his  face  so  softened  by  years  and  the  chastisement  of  disease, 
and  the  inworking  of  God  in  his  ripening  soul, — 3'es,  all  that 
went  to  make  Horace  Bushnell,  as  he  apjDcared  among  men 
and  played  off  his  magnetisms  upon  them,  some  of  us  will 
affectionately,  and  sorrowfully,  and  also  joyfully  remember, 
until  we  meet  him  again  in  God's  great  other  world.  .  .  . 

"  What  a  mind  his  must  be  to  enter  heaven,  and  start  out 
upon  its  broad-winged  ranges,  its  meditations  and  discoveries, 
its  transfigurations  of  thought  and  feeling,  its  eternal  enkin- 
dlings  of  joy  as  the  mysteries  of  redemption  unfold !  I  look 
forward  with  immense  expectation  to  a  meeting  again  with 
this  man  in  his  resurrection  life.  I  want  to  see  Horace  Bush- 
nell in  his  glorified,  immortal  body,  and  note  the  movements 
of  that  mighty  genius  and  that  manful  and  most  Christian 
soul  when  thus  clothed  upon  and  unhindered. 

"  Meanwhile,  and  until  then,  farewell,  O  master  in  Israel, 
O  man  beloved !  God  give  thee  light  on  thy  dark  questions 
now !  God  give  thee  rest  from  thy  tired  body !  God  bring  us 
to  thee  when  the  eternal  morning  breaks !" 


NOTE. 

In  the  yccar  1879,  a  mural  tablet  was  set  upon  the  wall  of  the  Park 
Church,  by  some  of  Dr.  Bushnell's  parishioners  and  friends,  as  a  memorial 
of  him,  and  a  tribute  of  their  aflfection.  It  contains  a  marble  rilievo  of 
his  head  and  face,  and  is  inscribed  to  him  in  these  words : — 

"  IN  MEMORY   OF   HIS   GREAT   GENIUS,  HIS   GREAT   CHARACTER,  AND 
HIS  GREAT   SERVICES   TO  MANKIND." 

He  is  buried  in  what  is  known  as  "  the  old  North  Burying-ground  " — 
a  quiet,  simple  place,  where  his  two  infant  children  and  many  of  his  old 
friends  were  already  buried ;  and  there  he  chose  to  be  laid.  His  grave 
is  marked  by  a  granite  monument,  erected  by  his  wife,  and  bearing  this 
inscription : — 

HORACE     BUSHNELL. 
1802-1876. 


INDEX. 


Adams,  Rev.  Dr.  William,  letter  to,  556. 
Addresses,  articles,  and  sermons  of  Dr. 
Bushnell  mentioned,  17,  82,  85,  88,  93, 
102,  103,  107,  109,  163,  173,  174,  183, 
184,  192,  196,  198,  200,  202,  229,  248, 
249,  257,  263,  279,  287,  288,  298,  312, 
323,  345,  383,  403,  406,  409,  410,  411, 
413,  423,  474,  475,  481,  482,  485,  490, 
491,495,501,505,513. 

Adirondacks,  vacation  in  the,  497-501. 

Afghan,  present  of  an,  346. 

"Age  of  Homespun,"  the,  address  on, 
10,  248. 

"  Agriculture  at  the  East,"  174. 

"  Aids  to  Reflection,"  reading  the,  208, 
209. 

All)inola,  Mr.,  and   his    Italian   Society, 
106. 

Alps,  travelling  in  the,  130-137. 

"Altar  Form,"  198. 

"  American  Politics,"  93. 

Andover,  addresses  at,  88,  200. 

xingelico,  Fra,  151. 

Angelo,  Michael,  155, 156. 

Antwerp,  cathedral  at,  124. 

Apples,  measuring  out  the,  10. 

Apthorp,  Mrs.  E.  C,  letters   to,  85,  118, 
555  ;  mention  of,  72,  527. 

Argument  for  Christian  nurture,  180. 

Art,  150-153. 

Association  of  Fairfield  West,  234,  237, 
258,  340. 

Association,  General,  of  Connecticut,  234, 
258,  305,  340. 


Association,  General,  of   Massachusetts, 

179. 
Association,  Ilartford  Central,  225,  234, 

306,  307. 
Association,  Xorth,  of  Hartford  County, 

179. 
Afla7itic,  the  wreck  of  the  steamship,  177. 
Atonement,  discourse  on  the,  196-198; 

subject   of,  218,  236,  246,  336,  339, 

488,  532,  342. 


B. 

Bacon,  Rev.  Dr.  Leonard,  quoted,  182, 
201,  245 ;  resolution  at  the  Waterbury 
meeting,  by,  306. 

Bacon,  Rev.  Dr.  George,  letters  to,  492, 
528,  538,  539,  548,  552,  553 ;  assist- 
ance of,  530. 

Bambino  in  Italy,  the,  158. 

Bangor  Theological  Seminary,  208,  215. 

Bantam,  Conn.,  village  of,  4. 

"  Barbarism  the  first  danger,"  sermon  on, 
184. 

Bartol,  Rev.  Dr.,  recollections  of,  184 ; 
letter  from,  559. 

Bartol,  Rev.  Dr.,  letters  to,  184, 199,  211, 
212,  213,  217,  219,  222,  227,  230,  246, 
247,  249,  250,  257,  262,  303,  3u4,  324, 
362,  363,  365,  414,  418,  419,  424,  434, 
479,  525,  548,  559. 

Bear,  meeting  a,  387,  389. 

Beard,  Mr.  and  Mrs.,  372,  374,  396. 

Beecher,  Dr.,  visit  from,  225 ;  remark 
on,  86. 

Beecher,  Rev.  Edward,  mentioned,  222. 


570 


INDEX. 


Beecher,  Eev.  H.  "W.,  hearing,  413. 

Berne,  Switzerland,  city  of,  133. 

Bible,  the,  205,  443. 

Bible-class,  takes  charge  of  a,  65. 

Big  trees  of  California,  37*7. 

Birth,  time  and  place  of,  3. 

"  Body  and  Form,"  by  Dr.  Bartol,  304. 

"  Bones,  his,  are  full  of  the  sin  of  his 
youth,"  sermon  on,  505. 

Books  published  by  Dr.  Bushnell,  ITS, 
211-214,  243,  413,  419,  439,  480,  501, 
503,  526,  537. 

Books,  reading  of,  48,  49,  61,  186,  191, 
208,  245,  295,  508. 

Borromeo,  St.  Charles,  148. 

Brace,  Charles  L.,  remarks  by,  79, 110. 

Bread-Loaf  Inn,  520,  530. 

Bridging  Asylum  Street,  Hartford,  plans 
for,  319. 

Bristol,  England,  116. 

Buchanan,  447  ;  his  fast,  443. 

Building  a  church,  suggestions  for,  126, 
381,408. 

Building  eras  in  religion,  495. 

Buildings  in  California,  376. 

Bunker  Hill  Celebration,  108. 

Bimyan,  John,  mention  of,  207,  322,  502. 

Burgess,  Bishop,  letter  from,  194. 

Burgess,  Daniel,  family  of,  73. 

Burkett,  Ralph,  letter  to,  509. 

Burton,  Rev.  Dr.,  remarks  by,  6,  505  ;  ap- 
pointment of,  504  ;  funeral  address 
by,  563. 

Bushnell,  Rev.  George,  remarks  by,  8,  42. 

Bushnell,  Rev.  Dr.  Horace;  his  birth  and 
pedigree,  3  ;  homestead,  4  ;  parents,  4  ; 
family,  7  ;  education,  9  ;  visiting  grand- 
parents in  Vermont,  14  ;  religious  in- 
stincts, 15 ;    mill  work,  16  ;    goes    to 
Warren    High    School,    17 ;     begins 
study  of  Latin,  17;    sports,  18;    ad- 
mitted to  Yale  College,  22  ;  his  grand- 
mother, 24 ;  his  mother,  8,  26  ;   com- 
positions,   40,   46 ;     graduating,   46 
school-teaching,  47  ;  religious  doubts 
37,  38,  50,  55,  58,  60;  editorship,  51 
studying  law,  52,  55 ;    tutorship,  53 
religious  revival,  55  ;  conversion,  59 


enters  theological  school,  62  ;  licensed 
to  preach,  65  ;  first  call,  66  ;  ordina- 
tion, 70  ;  marriage,  72 ;  early  preach- 
ing, 76-80 ;  death  of  his  second  child, 
85 ;  birth  of  a  son,  87 ;  first  heresy, 
89 ;  offer  and  declinature  of  presiden- 
cy of  Middlebury  College,  95,  97  ;  de- 
gree of  D.D.  conferred,  98 ;  son's 
death,  105 ;  work  for  Protestant 
League,  106,  172;  ill-heaUh,  112; 
journeying  in  Europe,  115;  return 
home,  171 ;  publication  of  "Christian 
Nurture,"  and  subsequent  controversy, 
178-183;  religious  experience,  191 ; 
delivers  the  addresses  published  in 
the  book  "  God  in  Christ,"  and  pro- 
nounced heretical,  196-202,  212;  his 
position  under  attack,  214-217  ;  trial 
by  his  Association;  225;  appears  be- 
fore General  Association  at  Litchfield, 
234 ;  publishes  "  Christ  in  Theology," 
243 ;  overtures  to  Dr.  Hawes,  253 ; 
controversial  action  at  meetings  of 
General  Association,  258,  305,  341 ; 
lectures  on  the  supernatural,  260 ;  rec- 
ollections of  him  by  Dr.  Bartol,  1 84 ; 
by  Bishop  Clark,  294 ;  Western  jour- 
ney, 267 ;  review  of  his  pastorate,  279 ; 
his  work  as  a  citizen,  312-321 ;  corre- 
spondence with  Dr.  Hawes,  326 ;  trav- 
elling in  Cuba,  347  ;  in  California,  365  ; 
call  to  the  presidency  of  College  of, 
and  work  for  the  same,  384-389,  396- 
405  ;  return  home,  406  ;  publication 
of  "Nature  and  Supernatural,"  419; 
leaving  Hartford,  423  ;  in  Minnesota, 
427 ;  at  Clifton  Springs,  439 ;  as  he 
was  at  home,  452 ;  publication  of 
books,  480,  501,  503,  526,  537  ;  minis- 
try at  large,  470 ;  last  sermon,  505  ; 
closing  years,  515  ;  death,  563. 
Business  men,  week-day  sermon  to,  410. 

c. 

C.  C,  or  Criticus  Criticorum,  224,  228. 
California,  letters   from,  336-402  ;  Col- 
lege of,  384-389,  396-405  ;  appeal  for 


INDEX. 


71 


same,  403  ;  climates  of,  3';0,  SYl,  389, 
392 ;  condition  of,  383 ;  herding  in, 
374 ;  water  in,  37G,  392  ;  buildings  in, 
316;  scenery  of,  367,  371,  372,  373, 
377,  380,  392  ;  ministers  of,  33G. 

Call  to  the  North  Church  in  Hartford, 
66;  to  Middlebury  College,  95;  to 
College  of  California,  384. 

Calvinism,  on,  25, 137, 139,  187. 

Cambridge  Divinity  School,  address  at, 
196. 

Camp,  Major  II.,  letter  concerning,  474. 

Capitol  of  Connecticut,  working  for  the 
State,  506. 

Cardiug-machines,  5, 16, 17. 

Carlyle,  on  Sterling,  extracts  from,  255, 
265. 

Castor  and  Pollux,  horses  of,  153. 

Cathedrals  at  Antwerp,  124;  at  Milan, 
147;  at  Exeter  and  Bristol,  118;  at 
Geneva,  139;  at  Rouen,  495  ;  should 
be  left  unfinished,  136. 

Channing,  Dr.  Wm.  E.,  mention  of,  186, 
195,  230. 

"Character  of  Jesus,"  publication  of  the, 
439. 

Charleston,  S.  C,  letter  from,  361. 

Chesebrough,  Rev.  A.  S.,  mention  of, 
223,  239 ;  letters  to,  224,  228,  232,  252, 
261,324,326,345,408,538. 

Childhood,  6-16. 

Children,  thoughts  on  training  of,  178, 
239,  300,  503;  letters  to,  91,  96,  104, 
108, 139,  160,  188,  270,  356,  556  ;  re- 
lations and  feelings  to  his  own,  76,  85, 
89,  105,  150,  175,  177,  191,  352,  353, 
452,  et  seq. 

Christ,  thoughts  and  experiences  of,  193, 
197,  220,  323,  336,  339,  368,  394,  422, 
435,  445, 478,  488,  520,  533,  534,  541. 

"  Christ  and  His  Salvation,"  471,  481. 

"  Christ  in  Theology,"  book  on,  243-246. 

"  Christ  the  Form  of  the  Soul,"  sermon 
on,  192. 

"Christian  Alliance,"  the,  107,  138, 172, 
175. 

"Christian  Nurture,"  book  on,  178-183, 
439. 


Christian  Observatory,  criticisms  in  the, 
215,222. 

Christian  Jieffisfcr,  mention  of  the.  111, 
250. 

Christian  Spectator,  article  in  the,  82. 

"  Christian  Trinity  a  practical  Truth," 
an  article  published  in  the  New  Eng- 
lander,  345. 

Christian  Union,  letter  to  the,  540. 

Christianity,  on,  200,  231,  247,  287,  301. 

Church  in  New  Preston,  struck  by  light- 
ning, 71. 

Church,  North,  in  Hartford,  settlement 
in,  67-70;  conservatives  in,  92,  281 ; 
deacons  of,  69  ;  gift  made  by,  425  ; 
letters  to,  354,  367,  385,  393,  416; 
from,  415;  relations  to  Dr.  Bushnell, 
Chapter  XIV. ;  to  other  churches,  252 ; 
payment  of  debt,  293  ;  parting  from, 
423 ;  withdrawal  from  Consociation, 
260,  285  ;  pastors  of,  439,  478,  485, 
504;  change  to  Park  Church,  485, 
491. 

Clark,  Bishop,  letter  of  reminiscences  by, 
294 ;  mention  of,  252,  263. 

Clifton  Springs,  New  York,  staying  at, 
439. 

Climates,  of  California,  370,  371;  of 
Cuba,  353  ;  of  Minnesota,  433,  434. 

Clinton,  California,  site  for  college  at, 
397,  404. 

Closing  years,  by  F.  L.  B.,  515. 

Col  de  Balme,  walk  to  the,  135. 

Coleman,  Rev.'Dr.,  remarks  by,  36. 

Coleridge's  WTitiugs,  reading,  208,  209, 
499. 

Coliseum  at  Rome,  the,  158. 

Colleague,  appointment  of  a,  413,  415. 

College  experiences,  35. 

Collins,  A.  M.,  letter  to,  381 ;  remark  by, 
413. 

Commemorative  celebration  at  Yale  Col- 
lege, 485. 

Common-schools,  address  for,  298. 

Communion,  preparation  for,  292. 

Como.,  Lake,  146. 

Compositions,  youthful,  20,  40,  40. 

Comprehensiveness,  281. 


572 


INDEX. 


Comte,  493,  oil. 

Concio  ad  Clerum,  at  Yale,  delivery  of, 

198,201. 
Confessions  of  a  Fair  Saint,  523. 
Conformity  in  small  things,  81. 
Congregatmialist,  criticisms  in  the,  222. 
Conic  sections,  rebellion  in  college  over, 

39. 
Connecticut,  speech  for,  249. 
Conscience  and  knowledge,  on,  519. 
Consociation,  withdrawal  from,  260,  285. 
Controversy,  214,  216,  255,  464. 
Conversion,  on  the  subject  of,  59. 
Corn-laws,  repeal  of  the  British,  165. 
Country,  hopefulness  for  the,  4Y7. 
Courant,  the  Hartford,  sermon  in,  410. 
Coventry,  England,  visit  to,  119. 
Creed,  basis  for  a,  252;  uses  of  a,  166, 

1*73. 
"  Crisis  of  the  Church,"  sermon  on,  77. 
Cromwell,  Oliver,  portrait  of,  165. 
Cuba,  letters  from,  349-354. 
Czersky,  125. 

D. 

Daggett,  Rev.  Dr.  0.  E.,  letter  from,  105. 

Dam,  building  a  solid  stone,  22. 

Danbury,  meeting  of  the  General  Asso- 
ciation at,  258. 

Davis,  Andrew  Jackson,  mention  of,  257. 

"Day  of  Roads,"  sermon  on  the,  177, 
289. 

Day,  Professor  Henry,  remarks  on  boy- 
hood by,  17. 

Deacon  Seth  Terry,  letter  from,  92. 

Deacons,  remarks  on,  492. 

"Dead,"  an  oration  on  "Our  obligations 
to  the,"  485. 

Death  of  infant  daughter,  85 ;  of  son, 
105  ;  of  Dr.  Bushnell,  563. 

Death,  feelings  about,  550. 

Debates  in  college,  40 ;  in  boyhood,  19. 

Debt,  dislike  of,  74,  291,  293. 

Defective  memory,  457. 

Detroit,  letter  from,  425. 

"  Dignity  of  Human  Nature  sliown  from 
its  Ruins,"  sermon  on,  363. 


Diman,  Rev.  J.  Lewis,  appointed  as  a 
colleague,  415 ;  his  refusal,  417. 

"Discourses  on  Christian  nurture,"  179. 

"  Dissertation  on  Language,"  quotations 
from,  203. 

"  Dissolving  of  Doubts,"  sermon  on,  58. 

"  Divinity  of  Christ,"  discourse  on  the, 
198,  201. 

Doctor  of  Divinity,  degree  conferred,  98. 

"  Dogma  and  Spirit,"  discourse  on,  200. 

Dogmatic  theology,  thoughts  on,  205, 
218,  233,  244,  339,  494,  501,  502. 

Dolls,  dislike  to,  453. 

Durant,  Henry,  talking  with,  56. 

Dutton,  Rev.  Dr.,  friendly  letters  from, 
254  ;  letter  of  consolation  to,  483. 

"  Duty  not  measured  by  our  own  abil- 
ity," sermon  on,  77. 


E. 

E ,  Mrs.,  letters  to,  346,  436. 

E ,  Miss,  letter  to,  494. 

Early  life  at  home,  8-23. 

Early  ministry,  records  of,  71,  79,  458, 

472. 
East  Windsor  Seminary,  215,  235,  242. 
Edinburgh,  Scotland,  123. 
Editorship  of  the  Journal  of  Commerce, 

51. 
Education,  early,  9  ;  a  sermon  on  "  New 

Education,"  504. 
Edwards,  Jonathan,  references  to,  275, 

336. 
Egleston,  Rev.  N.  H.,  remarks  of,  320. 
Einsiedeln,  Switzerland,  129. 
England,  travel  in,  117,  163. 
"Enthronement  of  the  Lamb,"  sermon 

on,  505. 
Ericsson's  caloric  motor,  305. 
Escapades  of  freshmen,  53. 
Essays,  first,  in  philosophy,  63. 
Europe,  journey  in,  115. 
Evangelical  Alliance,  166, 173. 
Evanr/eJht,  the,  article  in,  215,  221. 
Excursion  with  children  to  Bolton,  459. 
Exeter,  England,  remarks  about,  118. 


INDEX. 


57c 


Fairfield  West  Association,  234,  237, 243, 
258,  2G0,  340. 

Faith,  life  of,  reiiiavks  upon  the,  358, 
361,  367,450,494. 

Family,  of  Dr.  Bushiieirs  parents,  4 ; 
prayers,  455,  525. 

"  Fastidiousness  in  hearing  the  Word  of 
God,"  referring  to  a  sermon,  288. 

Fenelon's  Avritings,  impressed  by  read- 
ing, 191. 

Financial  crash  of  1857,  410. 

Finney,  Rev.  C.  G.,  mentioned,  253,  267, 
275. 

Fishing,  fondness  for,  IS,  44,  239,  430, 
461,  523,  526,  527. 

Flashes  of  wit,  513. 

Flogging,  receives  a,  7. 

Floi'ence,  stay  in,  149-153. 

Forgiveness,  on  the  subject  of,  518. 

"Forgiveness  and  Law,"  studies  for,  518, 
530,  542  ;  publication  of,  537. 

Formulas,  indifference  to,  218,  337,  490, 
502. 

Fort  Ripley,  Minn.,  269,  271. 

"Founders,  the,  great  in  their  uncon- 
sciousness," address  before  the  New 
England  Society  of  New  York,  229. 

Fragment  of  autobiography,  a,  1. 

France,  letters  from,  160. 

Frankfort,  adventures  at,  127. 

French  people,  remarks  upon  the,  161. 

Frescoes  by  Sala,  the  artist,  149. 

Freshmen,  escapades  of,  53. 

Freyburg,  Switzerland,  134. 

Funeral  service  at  Dr.  Bushnell's  death, 
563. 

"  Future  Life,  our  relations  to  Christ  in," 
sermon  on,  513. 

G-. 

Gage,  Rev.  W.  L.,  remarks  of,  255,  545. 
Galena,  letters  from,  268. 
Gaussen,  Professor,  138. 
Garrison,William  IL,  reference  to,  77,  78. 
General    Association    of    Connecticut : 


meeting  at  Litchfield,  234 ;  at  Dan- 
bury,  258 ;  at  Waterbuiy,  305 ;  at 
New  Haven,  340. 

Geneva,  Switzerland,  visit  to,  134. 

Genius,  thoughts  on,  41,  61. 

Gettysburg,  battle  of,  481. 

Giant,  the,  a  mountain  in  the  Adiron- 
dacks,  498. 

Gladden,  Rev.  Washington,  installation 
of,  504. 

God,  feelings  about,  193,  277,  366,  375, 
398,  445,  449,  510,  516,  517,  522,  523, 
529,  560,  562. 

"God  in  Christ,"  remarks  about  the 
book,  207,  211-219,  544,  553. 

God's  care,  1,  2,  90,  267,  345,  352,  382, 
426,499. 

Goodwin,  Rev.  Henry  M.,  letters  to,  221, 
234,  240,  248,  420. 

Government,  sermon  on  moral  founda- 
tions of,  474. 

Graduating  at  college,  46. 

Grandmother,  sketch  of  his,  24 ;  letter 
from,  15  ;  visit  to,  14. 

Grant,  General,  admiration  for,  482. 

"  Great  Time-keeper,"  sermon  on  the, 
109. 

Grindelwald,  visit  to,  131. 

Griswold,  Rev.  Mr.,  instruction  in  elocu- 
tion by,  66. 

"  Growth  of  Law,"  address  on,  107. 

"  Growth,  not  Conquest,  the  true  Method 
of  Christian  Progress,"  article  pub- 
lished in  the  N^ew  £»glandei\  109. 

Guizot,  M.,  listening  to  a  speech  from, 
161. 

Gustavus  Adolphus,  the  Society  of,  138. 

H. 

Handwriting,  remarks  on,  437. 

Hanging  up  questions,  60,  444,  533. 

Harris,  Mr.,  kindness  of,  350. 

Hartford,  settlement  in ;  work  as  a  citi- 
zen for,  183,  312-321,  506;  leaving, 
423  ;  return  to,  449. 

Hartford  Central  Association,  trial  be- 
fore, 225  ;  course  of,  234,  306. 


INDEX. 


Hartford  Xortli  Consociation,  withdrawal 

from,  260. 
Harvard,  oration  delivered  at,  198. 
Hawes's,  Dr.,  relations  to  Dr.  Bushnell, 

253  ;  correspondence  with,  326. 
Health,  thoughts  on,  484. 
Hedding,  Bishop,  the  early  story  of,  25. 
Heidelberg,  letter  from,  127. 
Helmer,  Rev.  C.  D.,  supplies  Dr.  Dush- 

nell's  pulpit,  421. 
Herbert,  Sidney,  hearing   a   speech  by, 

167. 
Heresy,  first  broached,  89,  90 ;  trial  for 

publishing,  225,  ct  scq. 
Holy  Spirit  and  his  work,  treatise  on, 

547 ;  preaching  on,  449. 
Home,  early  life  at,  5. 
Home,  feelings  about  his  own,  88,  103, 

168,  269,  431,  448  ;  influence,  465. 
Homestead,  the  old,  4. 
Hopkins,  Deacon,  in  the  house  of,  460. 
Hours  at  Home,  publication  of  articles 

in,  490,  491,  495,  501. 
House  of  Commons,  London,  impressions 

of  the,  164, 167. 
House,  planning  his,  72,  97. 
"  Household  Recollections,"  452. 
Howard,  Rev.  Dr.,  criticism  by,  541. 
Hudson,  lecture  in,  102. 
Humor,  his    characteristic  of,  38,  186, 

255,453,512,536,561. 
"Hunger  of  the  Soul,"  sermon  on  the, 

287. 
Huntington,  Rev.  Dr.  F.,  250,  251,  411. 
Hyde,  Rev.  James  T.,  pastor  pro  ton.  of 

the  North  Church,  394. 


Ideals,  391,400. 
Illness,  incidents  of  an,  549. 
Incarnation,  subject  of  the,  219. 
Independent,  the,  candid   discussion  in, 

250. 
Industry,  years  of  broken,  471. 
"  Insight  of  Love,"  sermon  on,  481. 
Inspiration,  thoughts  on,  339,  361,  390, 

546,  547,  549. 


Installation  of  Rev.  Mr.  Gladden,  504  ;  of 
Rev.  Mr.  Lacy,  383,  386 ;  of  Rev.  Mr. 
Walsworth,  366. 

Inversnaid,  stay  at,  119. 

Italian  scenery,  145, 146  ;  sculpture,  152, 
154. 


J. 

James,  Rev.  Dr.,  conversations  with,  445, 

"446;  criticism  by,  420. 
Jeffersonian  political  philosophy,  474. 
Journal  of  Conmurce,  editor  of  the,  51. 
Justice  of  the  peace,  his  father  a,  19. 

K. 

Kansas,  interest  in  the  affairs  of,  382, 

384,400,411. 
Kenil worth,  impressions  of,  118. 
King,  Rev.  Thomas  Starr,  mentioned,  482. 
Kirk,  Rev.  Edward  N.,  letter  from,  417. 
Knowledge  and  conscience,  on,  519. 


Lake  Como,  146;  Lugano,  145;  Lomond, 
119;  Katrine,  122;  Minnetonka,  429  ; 
Waramaug,  5,  381,  460,  461,  478. 
Language,  dissertation  on,  202-207, 213 ; 

subject  of,  65,  501,  502. 
Lasso,  use  of  the,  374. 
Last  sermon  preached,  505. 
Later  life,  spirit  of  his,  517. 
Latin,  commences  the  study  of,  17. 
Law,  studying,  52,  55. 
Letter  to  the  Pope,  publication  of  a,  168, 

171. 
Letters  of  reminiscences  by  Bishop  Clark, 

294  ;  by  Rev.  Dr.  Bartol,  184. 
Letters  from — 

Bartol,  Rev.  Dr.  C.  A.,  559. 
Birmingham,  England,  118. 
Boston,  221. 
Brandon,  Yt.,  95. 
Bristol,  England,  116. 
Brockport,  N.  Y.,  103. 
Burgess,  Bishop,  194. 


INDEX. 


575 


Letters  from — 

]}yfiekl,  89. 

Cabotville,  110. 

California,  306. 

Charleston,  S.  C,  3G1. 

Cincinnati,  0.,  275. 

Clifton  Springs,  X.  Y.,  439. 

Cuba,  349. 

Detroit,  Mich.,  425. 

Edenton,  N.  C,  113. 

Florence,  Italy,  149. 

Galena,  111.,  268. 

Geneva,  Switzerland,  138. 

Hartford,  96,  99, 108,  175,  184,  188, 
211,  217,  222,  227,  230,  240,  246, 
257,  261,  303,  322,  345,  362,  408, 
424,  471,  478,  479,  482,  492,  521, 
525,  528,  535,  538,  548,  552. 

Heidelberg,  127. 

Hudson,  0.,  102. 

Inversnaid,  Scotland,  119. 

Italy,  145. 

London,  England,  123, 163. 

Martinez,  Cal.,  385. 

Milan,  147. 

Milwaukee,  426. 

Mount  Washington,  75. 

Nevada,  Cal.,  367. 

New  Haven,  Conn.,  96. 

New  Preston,  71. 

New  York,  322,  347,  413. 

Niagara,  275. 

Norfolk,  Conn.,  540,  541. 

Norwich,  Conn.,  48. 

Paris,  160. 

Plymouth,  Conn.,  98. 

Porter,  Dr.  Noah,  241. 

Richmond,  Va.,  487. 

Eipton,  Vt.,  509,  521,  526,  528. 

Rome,  153. 

Sacramento,  Cal.,  399. 

San  Francisco,  375,  384,  393,  398. 

San  Jose  Mission,  Cal.,  372,  380, 
387,  396. 

Saratoga,  N.  Y.,  87,  91,  266,  308. 

Savannah,  Ga.,  356. 

Sea,  115, 169,  348. 

Sharon  Springs,  N.  Y.,  310. 


Letters  from — 

St.  Anthony,  Minn.,  427. 
St.  Louis,  Mo.,  273. 
Stoniugton,  Conn.,  238,  265. 
Switzerland,  127. 
Terry,  Deacon  Seth,  92. 
Warren,  Conn.,  483,488,  516. 
Washington,  D.  C,  112. 
Zurich,  Switzerland,  127. 
Letters  to — 

Adams,  Rev.  Dr.  William,  556. 
Apthorp,  Mrs.  E.  C,  85, 118,  555. 
Bacon,  Rev.  Dr.  George,  492,  528, 

538,  539,  548,  552,  553. 

Bartol,  Rev.  Dr.,  184,  199,  211,  217, 

219,  222,  227,  230,  246,  247,  249, 

250,  257,  262,  303,  324,  362,  365, 

414,  418,  424,  479,  525,  548,  559. 

Burkett,  Ralph,  509. 

Camp,  Major  Henry,  the  biographer 

of,  474. 
Chesebrough,  Rev.  A.  S.,  224,  228, 
232,  252,  261,  324,  326,  345,  538. 
Christian  Union,  540. 
Collins,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  A.  M.,  381. 
Dutton,Rev.  Dr.,  on  his  bereavement 
in  the  loss  of  his  wife,  483. 

E ,  Mrs.,  436. 

Hawes,  Rev.  Dr.,  326,  331,  334. 

Mitchell,  Donald  G.,  312. 

North  Church  in  Hartford,  354,  367, 

385,393,416. 
Van  Rensselaer,  Cortlandt,  48. 
AVilley,  Rev.  Samuel  H.,  384. 
Winship,  Thomas,   360,   394,  450, 
535,  558. 
Liberal,  use  of  the  epithet,  419. 
License  to  preach,  receiving  a,  65. 
"  Life    of    Heaven,"    sermons    on    the, 

105. 
"Life  or  the  Lives,"  article  in  "Work 

and  Play,"  first  delivered,  103. 
Lincoln,  Abraham,  remarks  about,  447, 
448  ;  esteem  for,  473  ;  eulogy  on,  489. 
Litchfield,  Conn.,  born  at,  3  ;  remarks 
about,  3,  4 ;  address  delivered  at,  10, 
248  ;  meeting  of  the  General  Associ- 
tion  at,  235. 


576 


INDEX. 


"Living  Subjects,"  sermons  on,  505. 
"Living  to  God  iu  Small  Things,"  ser- 
mon on,  77. 
Livingstone,  David,  remarks  about,  548. 
Loch  Katrine,  122  ;  Lomond,  119. 
London,  letters  from,  123, 163. 
"  Loyalty,"  article  on,  482. 
Lugano,  remarks  about,  145. 

M. 

Malan,  Rev.  Dr.,  138. 

Manners  in  controversy,  254. 

Marcy,  Mount,  498,  499. 

Marriage,  Dr.  Bushnell's,  72, 

Martinez,  Cal.,  visiting,  38'i 

"Mary  the  Mother  of  Jesus,'^  sermon  on, 

505. 
Massachusetts  Sabbath  -  School  Society, 

179. 
McEwen,  Rev.  Dr.  Robert,  remarks  by  38, 

54,  56. 
Mechanics,  taste  for,  17,  297,  305,  320. 
Melrose  Abbey,  Scotland,  123. 
Memorial  sermon  by  President  Porter  at 

Yale  quoted,  199,  560. 
Memorial  service  at  the  Park  Church, 

563. 
Memory,  defective,  457. 
Merle,  Rev.  Dr.,  interviews  with,  138. 
"  Message  from  the  Lord,"  brought  by  a 

colored  man,  466. 
Metaphysics,  on,  493. 
Middlebury  College,  the  presidency  of, 

95,  97. 
Milan,  impressions  of,  147. 
Mines  of  New  Almaden,  376  ;  of  Nevada, 

369. 
Ministerial  meetings,  511. 
Ministry,  review  of  his,  279  ;  at  large,  by 

Edwin  P.  Parker,  470. 
Minnesota,  a  year  in,  426 ;  climate  of, 

433, 434, 
"  Miracles  not  Discontinued,"  4G8. 
Missouri  Compromise,  109. 
Mitchell,  Donald  G.,  letter  to,  312. 
Monday  Evening  Club,  512. 
Monitorial  system,  17. 


Mont  Blanc,  ways  of  seeing,  136,  137. 

"  Moral  Uses  of  Dark  Things,"  book  on 
the,  175,  501. 

Moravian  way  of  training  children,  503. 

Mother,  sketch  of  his,  26  ;  remarks  upon 
his,  8,  9  ;  death  of  his,  87. 

Motors,  305. 

Mount  Washington,  75  ;  Marcy,  499. 

Music,  learning,  31 ;  delight  in,  41 ;  ad- 
dress on  religious,  263 ;  appreciation 
of,  270,  455,  530. 

N. 

Napa  City,  Cal.,  402. 

Napoleon  Bonaparte,  remarks  about, 
144, 149. 

National  Preacher^  articles  in,  109. 

"  Natural  History  of  the  Yaguey  Fami- 
ly," the,  356,  491. 

"Nature  and  the  Supernatural,"  publi- 
cation of,  419. 

Neauder's  "  Planting  and  Training  of  the 
Churches,"  reading,  212. 

Necessity,  the  best  of  mothers,  432. 

Negro,  as  a  heavenly  messenger,  466. 

Nephew,  letter  to  his,  240. 

Nevada,  Cal.,  letter  from,  367. 

New  Almadeu  quicksilver  mines,  376. 

"  New  Education,"  address  at  Yale  Col- 
lege on  the,  504. 

New  Englandei\2iViic\e&  iu,  109, 173, 178, 
182,  214,  261,  345,  413,  420,  428,  482. 

New  Haven,  General  Association  meet- 
ing at,  340. 

New  Preston,  residing  at,  4 ;  academy 
in,  17  ;  vacations  at,  461. 

New-School,  68,  69,  281. 

New  York,  letters  from,  322,  347, 413. 

Niagara  Falls,  remarks  about,  275  ;  ser- 
mon on,  409. 

North  Church  in  Hartford.     See  Church. 

"  Northern  Iron  and  the  Steel,"  sermon 
on  the,  325. 

o. 

O'Connell,  hearing,  iu  House  of  Com- 
mons, 167. 


INDEX. 


577 


Old-school  hearers,  G8,  69,  281. 
Omicrou,  articles  signed,  213. 
Ordination,  receiving,  70. 
Oregon    dillleulty,   regarding    the,   IGO, 

163,  16G. 
Orthodo.xy,  his,  in  various   lights,  225, 

227,  231,  245,  2i7,  338,  389,  414. 
"  Our  Gospel  a  Gift  to  the  Imagination," 

sermon  on,  501. 
"  Our  Obligations  to  the  Dead,"  oration 

on,  485. 
"  Our  Relations  to  Christ  in  the  Future 

Life,"  a  sermon  on,  513. 


Pacific  Railroad,  surveys  for  a,  405, 508. 
Paley,  as  a  model  for  style,  41,  208. 
Panic  of  1857,  410. 
Parents  and  family,  4,  7,  8. 
Paris,  France,  impressions  of,  160. 
Park,  History    of   the    Hartford,   312 ; 

named  Bushnell  Park,  562. 
Parker,  Rev.  Dr.  E.  P.,  "Ministry    at 

Large,"  written  by,  470  ;    manuscript 

submitted  to,  535. 
Parker,  Theodore,  evening    spent   with, 

108. 
"Parting  Words,"  farewell  sermon  as 

pastor  of  the  North  Church  in  Hart- 
ford, 423. 
Pastorate,  review  of  his,  279. 
Paternal  tenderness,  465. 
Patriotism,  474,  477,  482,  486. 
Patton,  Rev.  Dr.  William  W.,  account  of 

a  conversation  by,  207 ;  relations  with, 

252. 
Phelps,  Rev.  Dr.  Austin,  remarks  by,  339, 

531. 
Phi  Beta  Kappa  addresses,  85, 198. 
Pitti  Gallery,  Florence,  150. 
"  Planting  and  Training  of  the  Churches," 

reading  Neander's,  212. 
Plays  and  Pastimes,  453. 
Politics,  sermons  on,  93, 109. 
Pope,  a  letter  to  the,  163,  171. 
Porter,  Rev.  Dr.  Noah,   225,   241,  253, 

344, 


Porter,  President,  of  Yale  College,  199, 
255,  560. 

Prayers,  his  early,  15,  59,  79;  in  a 
strange  land,  360  ;  in  the  family,  455, 
523 ;  in  church,  464,  473 ;  on  the 
mountain,  499;  in  the  last  3'ears,  517, 
524. 

"  Preparatory  Lecture,"  before  Commun- 
ion Sunday,  292. 

Princeton  Theological  Seminary,  215, 
242,  512. 

"Progress,"  article  on,  501. 

"  Prosperity  our  Duty,"  sermon  entitled, 
183. 

Protestant  League,  afterward  called  the 
Christian  Alliance,  106. 

"  Pulpit  Talent,"  address  on,  490. 

Puritan  Fathers,  tribute  to  the,  252. 

Puritan  Recorder,  criticisms  of,  110,  181, 
226,414,415. 

Putnam^s  Maejazine,  article  in,  495. 

R. 

Raphael,  criticism  of  works  of,  156. 

Razor,  stropping  a,  36. 

Rebellion  in  college  over  conic  sections, 
39 ;  great  interest  in  the  war  of  the, 
473. 

Recollections,  household,  452. 

Reformation  in  Germany,  125. 

"  Religion,  building  eras  in,"  495. 

Religious  experiences,  21,  55,  58,  191, 
277,  445,  516. 

ReUgious  Herald,  the,  215,  223,  225. 

Religious  influences  of  early  life,  8,  11, 
28. 

"Religious  Music,"  address  on,  42,  263. 

Resignation  of  pastorate,  423. 

Reunion,  sermon  of,  406. 

Revelation,  address  on,  88  ;  thoughts  on, 
310,  358,  389  ;  in  his  own  experience, 
516,522. 

Review  of  pastorate,  279. 

Revivals  of  religion,  55,  253,  412  ;  sub- 
ject of,  81-84,  200,  282. 

Richmond,  Va.,  letter  from,  487. 

Ripton,  letters  from,  509,  521,  526,  528. 


578 


INDEX. 


Romanism,  views  of,  IS,  106. 

Rome,  visiting,  153. 

Ronge,  125. 

Russell,  Lord  John,  description  of,  167. 

s. 

Sabbath,  boyish   frolic    on  the,  19;    in 

Scotland,  121. 
Sabbath-School  Society  of  Massachusetts, 

179. 
Sala,  frescoes  by,  149. 
Sampson,  Joseph,  friendship  of,  347, 409, 

471. 
San  Francisco,  letters  from,  370. 
San  Jose  Mission,  letters  from,  372. 
San  Pablo,  visit  to,  401. 
Savannah,  letters  from,  356. 
Scheideck,  Switzerland,  the,  130. 
School,  at,  9, 17;  teaching  a,  47. 
Schools,  common,  address  for,  298. 
Schools,  Old  and  New,  68,  69,  281. 
Science,  interest  in,  41,  206,  509,  536. 
"Science  and  Religion,"  sermon  on, 495. 
Sculpture,  Italian,  152,  154. 
Second  coming,  subject  of  the,  99, 100. 
Sermons  "for  the  New  Life,"  413;  on 

"  Living  Subjects,"  505  ;    on  "  Christ 

and  his  Salvation,"  471. 
Sharon  Springs,  letter  from,  310. 
Shedd,  Professor,  hearing  a  sermon  by, 

414. 
Ships,  seeing  a  fleet  of,  117. 
Simplon,  crossing  the,  144. 
Sin,  the  fact  of,  227, 425. 
Sketches  of   grandmother   and  mother, 

24;  of  Major  Camp,  476. 
Slavery,  subject  of,  78,  80,  248,  282,  411, 

443,  474. 
Son,  birth  of  his,  87  ;  death  of  his,  105, 

191. 
Spalding,  Rev.  George  B.,  installation  of, 

485  ;  resignation  of,  504. 
St.  Anthony,  letters  from,  427-437. 
St.  Ouen,  cathedral  of,  495. 
St.  Paul,  preaching  at,  433. 
St.  Peter's,  at  Rome,  visiting,  157. 
"Stability  of  Change,"  address  on,  102. 


Starksborough,  Vt.,  farm  at,  24. 
Stockton  Pass,  California,  372. 
Stonington,  Conn.,  letters  from,  238,  265. 
Storm  at  sea,  170. 
Storrs,  Rev.  Dr.,  preaching  for,  505. 
Study  of  the  world  at  large,  509. 
Style,  formation  of  his,  207-210. 
Supernatural,  lectures  on  the,  257,  304, 

345,  365. 
Surveying,  taste   for,  18,  320,  388,  404, 

405,456,459,475. 
"  Sustenance  and  Security,"  on,  520. 
Switzerland,  impressions  of,  127. 
Sympathy  with  young  men,  290,  463. 


Tarbet,  free  church  in,  121. 

"  Taste  and  Fashion,"  article  on,  109. 

Teaching,  thoughts  on,  427. 

Tennyson,  extract  from,  60. 

Terry,  Deacon  Seth,  letter  from,  92. 

Themes  at  college,  40, 46. 

Theological  school  at  New  Haven,  62, 
215,  235. 

Thiers,  M.,  description  of,  161. 

Thunder-storm  during  service  at  church, 
7L 

"Training  for  the  Pulpit,"  article  on, 
490. 

Trees  of  California,  369,  371,  377. 

Trial  before  the  Hartford  Central  Asso- 
ciation, 225. 

Trinity,  subject  of,  89, 204,  236,  335,418. 

Trivultius,  monument  of,  149. 

"True  Wealth  and  Weal  of  Nations," 
address  on  the,  85. 

Tutorship  in  Yale  College,  33,  53-62. 

Twichell,  Rev.  J.  H.,  reminiscences  by, 
405,  498-501. 

u. 

"  Unconscious   Influence,"  sermon    on, 

163, 188,  288,  289. 
Unitarianism,  111,  180,  193,  202,  213, 

214,  219,227,  231. 
Upham's  works,  reading  of,  191. 


INDEX. 


579 


V. 

Vacations,  while  at  college,  42  ;  at  New 

Preston  (or  Warren),  461,  478,  481, 

483,516;  in  the  A(]irondacks,497  ;  at 

Ripton,  521,  526,  528-534. 
Vatican,  impressions  of  the,  154. 
Vermont,  visit  to  bis  grandparents  in, 

14. 
Vevay,  Sunday  at,  135. 
"  Vicarious  Sacrifice,"  preparation  for, 

422,  445,  477;    publication   of,  488; 

supplementary  volume  of,  538,  543. 
Vigilance  Committee  of  Sau  Francisco, 

375,  379,  380-384. 
Virgin  Mary,  sermon  on  the,  505. 


w. 

War  of  the  Rebellion,  interest  in  the, 

473-475 ;  visit  to  the  scenes  of  the, 

487. 
Waramaug  Lake,  5,  381,  461. 
Washington,  D.  C,  letter  from,  112. 
Watch,  loss  of  a,  383. 
Waterbury,  Conn.,  meeting  of  General 

Association  at,  305. 
Water-power  of  the  Connecticut,  183, 

319. 
Water-store  of  California,  376,  392. 
"Ways  of  Prayer,"  notes  on,  524. 
Weather-house,  on  a  barometric,  494. 


Webber,  Rev.  G.  N.,  becomes  pastor  of 
North  Church,  439  ;  resigns,  478. 

Wengern  Alp,  132. 

West,  journey  in  the,  267. 

Whipple,  E.  J.,  mention  of,  247,  303. 

Wife,  dedication  of  a  book  to,  503  ;  let- 
ters to,  ubique. 

Willey,  Rev.  S.  II.,  letter  to,  384  ;  quoted, 
404. 

Williams  College,  address  at,  504. 

Willis,  N.  P.,  anecdote  told  by,  45. 

Winship,  Thomas,  character  of,  290;  let- 
ters to,  360,  394,450,  535,  558. 

Winthrop,  Mr.  William,  mention  of,  429, 
430. 

"  Woman  Suffrage,"  book  on,  503. 

Womanhood,  remarks  on,  139-143,  440. 

Woods,  life  in  the,  499. 

"  Work  and  Play,"  oration  on,  198  ;  pub- 
lication of  the  book,  480. 


"  Taguey  Family,  Natural  History  of," 
356,491. 

Yale  College,  admission  to,  22  ;  studying 
at,  35 ;  tutorship  in,  53-62 ;  address- 
es and  sermons  at,  58,  107,  199,  263, 
485,  504,  505. 

Young  men,  sympathy  with,  290,  463. 


z. 

Zurich,  letter  from,  127. 


THE   END. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


MAR  13^968 


i^ 


mJ"^ 


^ 


QV 


^^i'^^ 


Form  L9-Series  4 


1^0'' 


2,3^91^ 


APR  22  1979 


3   1158  00327  7646 


^^ 


BX 

7260 

B9C5 


Kl^'s 


